Mobius: United We Stand
by blindsniper33
Summary: In a world full of speeding hedgehogs, mad scientists, and chaos emeralds, how can humans hope to survive? As relations tense across all of Mobius, the planet is ready to rip itself apart. However, the long-awaited arrival of the Black Comet brings with it the ultimate test for Mobius' resolve. Either band together and face the alien threat, or watch your world burn.
1. Divided We Fall, Part 1

**A/N: This little fanfic is trying to expand on Mobius, the world where Sonic and his buddies frolic, play, and run so fast they liquefy everybody's insides. Wait, what was that last part? Oh, that's right, Mobius has consequences now...**

**Sonic is still going to be in this story; it takes place in the early Sonic universe, but in a more alternate reality. Think the Ultimate Marvel series.**

**I'm not trying to use any OCs. I dug deep for some notable G.U.N troopers to make a squad. However, the only OCs are cannon fodder and some diplomats.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

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><p>Prologue - Divided We Fall (12)

_There's this romanticized version of the Guardian Units of Nations floating around people's heads, making its rounds through Mobius' population. They think we're just a bunch of animals toying with military equipment and causing childish mischief with no real consequences. No. Not even close._

Soldiers coughed throughout the transport boat as they anxiously awaited their departure from the craft. Bodies twitched, hands fidgeted, legs shook, fingers tapped uncontrollably against their weapons' triggers. Behind their covered faces, the soldiers were terrified of the upcoming conflict that would ensue. Faint whizzing sounds grew deafeningly louder until they were silenced after slamming into the water, spraying the crew and kicking up the scent of sweat, blood, and salt.

_A lot of young Mobians that get recruited think they're the next Sonic the Hedgehog. Not everyone could be like the greats. Too bad they realize this when it's too late. They won't be remembered, the U.F. doesn't really care about the five jackasses that call themselves Zero the Demonic-Artificial Wolf, or whatever the hell, that tried to play hero._

The operator of the transport boat fed orders to the other drivers, among other ramblings, on the radio. He steered, or at least tried to steer, the slow vessel from the barrage of projectiles. He wiped his irritated eyes, the salt water continued to rain down on him and the soldiers up front. He looked to his left for a moment, more projectiles hit the water until one landed a direct hit on the boat next to him. The resulting explosion left him and most of the soldiers struggling to hear through the induced ringing.

_In the end, it doesn't matter. Anyone, Human, Mobian, Overlander, or otherwise that are willing to pick up a gun and give their lives for this country are heroes in my book. While the fat cats and bankers are cozy in Station Square or Central City, we're out here. We're out here doing what matters for all of Mobius, not just the United Federation. Sometimes, though... sometimes things aren't this black-and-white._

"This is it! We hit the beachhead in roughly thirty seconds!" The operator yelled to the crew, specifically talking to the sergeant, who was only identifiable by his rank being on the front of his helmet.

The sergeant turned to the rest of the soldiers, "Thirty seconds! Westwood, pass it down!" He bellowed out louder than the gunfire.

The masked soldier looked down to his jacket, unfortunately, 'Westwood' was written on his left breast-plate. He took in a deep breath under his balaclava, "Thirty seconds!" His voice was much higher, that of a young man. He was able to be heard by the soldiers in the front, snapping them out of their terrified trances.

Upon hearing this, the soldiers grew more anxious, "No, no, I can't be here! I have to get out! I have to get out!" One of the troopers dropped his carbine and grabbed the edge of the open boat and lifted himself over. The other soldiers yelled in protest, grabbed his legs and tried to pull him back down. The fleeing trooper kicked back at them until a line of gunfire cut through him, ending his yelling.

The rest of the soldiers, including Westwood, ducked down in the fetal position with their arms covering their helmets. As the line of bullets thoroughly shredded the boat, each trooper prayed they would get lucky. Fortunately, the wave of rounds passed and the soldiers got up. Westwood quickly scurried to the back of the mass of soldiers, thinking this was the safest. Bullets can only go through so many bodies, right?

As soon as they got their composure back, the boat jerked to a stop. The soldiers all stared at the door through their tinted goggles. The large door was branded with the infamous G.U.N insignia. Westwood cleared his throat from the back, "S-sergeant?"

The sergeant looked up towards the sky, "Hold steady, boys. We wait for the Blues and Vulks."

Ten agonizing seconds passed with the only audible sounds being gunfire, explosions, and the screams of unlucky soldiers. The operator of the boat rose up from his seat, looking at the fleet of fighters, "Air support's here, boys!" The operator yelled to the men.

The troopers watched on as the squadrons of Blue Eagles and Vulkan fighters flew overhead. The noise emitted from the fighters' engines blasted through the soldiers as the jets flew over the beach. The sergeant raised his arm up, "This is it open the doors!" The soldiers obeyed and two of the identical troops released the locks on the door and prepared to charge out.

Westwood took one last look behind him, noticing a Vulkan fighter take a direct hit from an anti-air missile. The jet was almost blown in two. The mangled remains of the aircraft spewed out black smoke as the pilot struggled for control. The plane collided with the soft sand next to their transport boat, causing a deafening boom and emitted shock waves that sent the boat dangerously rolling in the air.

Unable to grab anything, Westwood was mercilessly thrown into the ocean water. As he took his last breathe through his mesh balaclava, the salt water rapidly filled his his mouth and pocketed inside his mask. As he sunk down, he witnessed his boat roll on to another transport craft, the water carried the cringe-worthy sound of sheering and bending metal to his ears. Westwood felt his rear plant lightly on the sea floor, kicking up a cloud of sand that seemed to dance throughout the water before settling back down.

Westwood stared at the sun shining brightly through the surface of the water, it was the brightest he had ever seen it before. Westwood grabbed his throat, quickly realizing he had been submerged. The surface looked like it was miles above him, he had no chance to breach for air. That didn't matter to him.

Out of sheer determination he lifted his legs up and prepared to push himself upwards, but quickly splashed around and drew a breathe of sweet oxygen. He stood frozen for a second before realizing the water was waist deep. The bitter sounds of the ensuing battle waged on the beachhead filled his ears once more. The sight was too much for him to take in; G.U.N units, dressed head-to-toe in tactical black, charged up the beach hill. It seemed like a losing fight, the horde of black soldiers were constantly being gunned down and cut short by the machine guns that were placed in a line of residential houses along the beach. Smoke trails from missiles and rockets filled the sky, crossing paths like a smoky spiderweb. The once pristine beach was now littered with the bodies of soldiers and debris of all sorts, from aircraft to pieces of brick and mortar.

A trail of bullets snapped Westwood back to reality, each one kicking up a little splash of water in front of him. He let out a surprised yelp and began running to shore, his legs trying to push past the weight of the water. With a glorious splash, Westwood made it on the beachhead, and made a beeline toward a mangled Vulkan that had crashed nose-first into the sand. He couldn't feel anything, his adrenaline blocked all that out long ago. He was too focused on the cover the downed jet provided. The buzzing of bullets flying near him simply made him run faster. He dove down and slid behind the large wing of the jet, meeting up with several other soldiers already behind it.

None of these men had the rank to command, all of them lower enlisted like Westwood himself. He crouched down near the center of the wreck, where he thought was safest. He took a long look behind him only to see the shoreline now tinted a deep red with his deceased comrades occasionally poking out from the surface, along with some destroyed transport crafts.

"Quite the sight, eh?" Westwood faced another masked soldier, he leaned out of the safety of the wreckage and sent a quick burst from his light machine gun down the beach. The red stripe on his shoulder identified him as demolitions, but his explosives weren't present, "Brass set us up to fail! Has to be!" He yelled over the gunfire.

Westwood simply continued to stare at the man, "W-what?" He did not actually hear this man's words, his mind still in shock from the fight in progress. The man did not respond, he simply continued to pop shots at the houses up hill.

"Hey you! Errr, 'Westwood?'" His attention was grabbed by yet someone else, "At least that's what's on your tit, hehe..." This man looked way too scrawny, but not too scrawny for his yellow stripe; communications. His giant backpack housed everything needed for... Whatever those guys did. The man grabbed an assault carbine from the sand and tossed it to Westwood, "Catch."

With a grunt, Westwood felt the carbine hit his chest and fall to his feet, "Ha, nice catch," The man jokingly said, and high-fived himself. Westwood furrowed a brow to the man's attitude under such conditions, but picked the weapon up, "Why don't you help your buddy over there shoot at those tiny, timeshare houses, would ya?" He pointed to the demolitions man who had not stopped spraying in the general direction of the enemy.

"Sure," That was all Westwood could muster before he made his way over to the side of the wreckage. He took a deep breathe and slid out of cover. Westwood held the carbine to eye-level and carefully aimed it towards one of the many houses.

He took a shot.

Then he took one to the chest.

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><p><strong>That's it for part one. Feel free to count all the tropes and cliches in this shameless D-Day knock-off.<strong>


	2. Divided We Fall, Part 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

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><p>Prologue - Divided We Fall (22)

_The sun._

The sun was truly beautiful. So full of life, so full of intrigue. It illuminated everything so brightly, almost as if it were right on top of Mobius. The sun watched over him as he silently stared at it, like a caring mother.

"This is Victory Three, beachhead is a no go. Victory One, Victory Two, Victory Four, confirmation on fail safe. Repeat, confirmation on fail safe, over!" Westwood snapped back to reality from the nearby shouting. He could feel the sand digging into his vest and uniform. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his sternum prevented it. With a grunt of pain, he fell back down on the soft sand.

"This is Victory Four, no confirmation, Victory Three, continue with forward advance, over," The voice conflicted with the radio static as the operator on the other line spoke.

_I don't know why we were even fighting that day, well don't get me wrong; I knew why we were fighting, but still. The beach was so beautiful, if my buddies weren't buried there, that's probably where I'd retire._

A line of static and gunfire emitted from his radio, "Victory Two, the line is holding, b-" The transmission was quickly interrupted and cut off.

A few seconds passed, but the radio remained silent, "Victory Two, copy?" Again, what seemed like hours dragged by, "Victory Two, are you there?" Westwood lifted his head, he had been dragged back to the cover of the jet. There were even more soldiers here than before of all shapes and sizes, but each sporting their sleek black uniforms. It was like a fashion show of the most tactical kind. Most of them were not even fighting back, just simply crouching behind the downed fighter. The former wing loomed over them, with the G.U.N insignia chipping off the metal. It provided shade from the heat and cover from the enemy fire.

The communications specialists paced back and forth with his radio, spewing out various slang words and jargon that Westwood could not even begin to comprehend, "He's been like this for the past couple minutes," Westwood heard a deep, sultry voice to his right. He looked to said direction, another soldier was kneeling over him and was tending to his wound.

Wait, wound?

"I didn't think you were getting up, you were out cold for a while," She continued, touching his chest. As soon as her hand made contact, Westwood let out a painful yell, "Sorry, but at least the dressing is still holding."

Westwood stared at the female soldier through his tinted goggles, "Huh? Dressing?" He lifted himself up despite the pain, "Oh, no," His combat jacket ripped open and his vest undone, his bare chest covered only by a thin, clear occlusive dressing. It looked like someone patched up his wound with a piece of tape.

"The bullet wasn't too deep, I got it out for you, bud." She patted Westwood on the helmet, "You're lucky it didn't penetrate your lungs. Maybe our issued vests do help out," She looked out on the battlefield as more advancing G.U.N troops were taken down by distant automatic fire, "Nope, never mind..."

He looked at her shoulder, she had a red stripe, "You did this? But you're..." She nudged her head to the right and Westwood followed. Another soldier with a green stripe, the medical one, the one she needed to have to perform any treatment he would trust, was laying against the wreck with most of his face missing.

"I tried medical training, didn't work out for me, failed out... but I did keep some of the know how."

Westwood gulped, "How much?"

"Well, I dug out the bullet with my fingers," She wiggled said appendages in front of her. Westwood, looking at her gloves, covered in sand, ash, and other undesirable substances, and quickly began rapidly breathing. He thrashed about the ground clawing at his neck before passing out once more, "Shock... Damn, why did I say that?"

"Victory Three, this is Broker Seven, nuts and bolts on their way, E.T.A ten minutes. Repeat, nuts and bolts ten minutes out, over," The communications specialist's radio began to sound again.

"Broker Seven, this is Victory Three. Copy that, we'll hold the line until then, over," He replied, yelling into the radio over the gunfire.

"Negative Victory Three, get our guys away from your current position, about half a Klick out, over."

The specialist threw down his pack and rummaged through his equipment. Finally, he revealed a pair of binoculars. He dropped down to his stomach and crawled out of the safety of the wreckage. He removed his goggles and rested them on his helmet, revealing a small patch of tan skin along with his emerald eyes before he lifted the binoculars to them. Grabbing back his radio, he set the binoculars down, "Broker Seven, this is Victory Three. That's a negative, we go half a Klick out, we'd be right on top of the enemy positions, over."

"Make it happen Victory Three, we need the space, over."

"We can't! We'd be cut down before we reach half a Klick!"

"Do it or die Victory Three, over."

The specialist threw his radio against the wreckage, smashing it to bits, "God dammit!" The rest of the, possibly fifteen or more, soldiers looked at him, "We got to move from here," He simply said to the rest of the soldiers.

The female soldier looked down to Westwood, "We have wounded, we can't just move!"

The specialist nodded, for probably longer than he should have, "Then we get crushed to death."

"What?" The rag-tag group of soldiers stood in silence, now only gunfire filled the air.

"What are you talking about?" The demolition expert set down his light machine gun, "We run; we die, we stay; we die. What the hell?"

The specialist licked his lips, tasting the sand caked on his skin, "Yeah, I know, but we have to try something... Anything."

The demolitions expert picked up his weapon, "I knew it! I told you the brass set us up!" The moved over to the female soldier, still leaning over Westwood's unconscious body, "He still alive?"

She rested her hand on his neck, "Yeah, I have a pulse," She replied after feeling his carotid artery.

"You're in charge of him then."

She looked down at Westwood again, "Lucky freakin' me."

"Don't drop that attitude, Topaz. Might be the last you use it," He told her before walking back to the communications specialist.

"Thanks... I guess," The female soldier, Topaz, lifted Westwood over the back of her neck and rested him on her left shoulder.

The demolitions expert took a peek around the wreckage, it was utter chaos; no cover in sight to fit fifteen soldiers. The beach turned an ashy black with puddles of deep red. He scoped out a crater caused by artillery fire before the land invasion begun, it could fit maybe seven guys if they were lucky. Unfortunately, he figured the group could fit once the casualties have set in.

"You know, we're going to need someone to provide covering fire. I may need your light machine gun," The communications specialist finally spoke up.

The demolitions expert kept his gaze on the battlefield, "Nah, you're a nerdy lookin' guy. You'd never be able to handle Moira."

"Moira?"

"Yeah, my sexy brass spewin' lass," He looked down to his weapon, "I'll lay down the fire support, you just make sure these guys make it to that crater," He pointed to his referenced spot.

The communications expert patted him on the shoulder, "Thank you, you're a tru-"

"Just get them ready" He cut the specialist off.

The specialist nodded. Turning back to the group, he took a deep breath, "All right guys, this is it! Stay on me, as soon as we leave you'll see a small crater in the ground! If I get hit, run for that or any other spots you find!" The group of soldiers uneasily stood up in understanding. The specialist looked back to the demolitions expert and they shared a nod.

The demolitions expert moved out of the wreckage and began to fire at the houses, "Covering fire!" He screamed with the sound of the shots firing off. He was glad to have yelled that, he always wanted to. Just like in the movies.

"Move!"

The group sprinted in unison, a pair of fifteen footsteps sounding like one. Topaz, with Westwood's added weight, had trouble keeping up with the group, she eventually fell to the back. As the group moved, a couple of the bodies hit the ground like piles of rocks. The casualties dropped with a puff of red mist spewing out. Some kept screaming as they landed, but Topaz knew she couldn't help. She maneuvered her way through her fallen comrades with relatively great success. The specialist still held the lead, being much quicker than the rest of the soldiers, he was seemingly dodging the incoming hail of gunfire.

The specialist slid into the crater just before the artillery shells began raining , decimating part of the group. He looked on from the safety of the crater as the group began to fall one by one from artillery and machine guns alike. He gripped his carbine as tight as he could, wishing for this entire invasion to be over, but then he was finally greeted by another soldier who made it. The other survivor carelessly stumbled into the crater next to the specialist.

He had no stripes, he was just infantry, but the specialist was still glad to see him, "Anyone else still alive?" He yelled to the infantryman.

He shook his head, "I don't know I wasn't looking!" The artillery drowned out his reply.

Against all odds, another soldier made it through. The specialist desperately looked for a pair of red stripes on them, but again just another infantryman, "You! Did you see anyone else?" The specialist asked the other soldier.

"Yeah, that Topaz girl, she's still kicking!" The soldier replied, the specialist peeked out of the crater and saw her, still carrying Westwood. The three started shouting encouragements towards her, but she couldn't hear past the artillery. Topaz could only muster up a slight jog from the exhaustion, despite the large amount of adrenaline coursing through her.

Unfortunately, the enemy guns finally hit their mark, a shell blasted behind the two, sending them to the ground, "No!" The communications specialist climbed out of the crater to the two troopers.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing? They're dead!" One of the infantrymen stood up after him, only for the other one to drag him down.

"Dude's lost it, let him go," The other soldier told the infantryman.

The specialist found his way through the smoke until he saw the two bodies, he grabbed on to the epaulettes of both with each hand. With all the strength he could dig up, he pulled them to the safety of the crater, much to the shock of the other soldiers. Collapsing from exhaustion, he looked out to the ocean behind him.

There they were.

It had been ten minutes, right on time. The beautiful armada of transport helicopters and gunships were pouring out of the horizon like a metallic wave of rejuvenating water.

"Victory Three this is Broker Seven, nuts and bolts have arrived, I repeat nuts and bolts have arrived, over."

The specialist reached into his combat vest's pocket and pulled out his radio, gripping it tightly and still gasping for air, "This is Victory Three, you're free to land, over," He set the radio down with a sigh of relief, still catching his breath. He looked down at Topaz and Westwood, the latter of which started to stir, and the former... something wasn't right.

He leaned over a bit from his sitting position, her left leg. It wasn't there, just a mangled bloody stump, "Oh shi-"

The gunships returned fire to the houses while some of the transports landed on the edge of the beachhead and others hovered over the beach. Outside the landed transports, waves of Hunter combat drones raced out on to the battlefield wielding heavy caliber machine guns. They soaked up the enemy machine guns while dishing out even more damage. With expert accuracy, the drones fired upon the entrenched enemies, while only a small few fell to enemy fire.

From the flying transport choppers, F-6t Bigfoot combat walkers fell towards the beach with heavy impact, disintegrating any dead, or unlucky G.U.N units underneath their drop zone and destroying the wrecked Vulkan the specialist once took cover behind. The combat walkers peppered the houses with their chain guns while providing proper stopping power from their anti-material missiles. With the first wave of drones and walkers, the line of houses were now rubble with all enemy occupants dead or dying.

The specialist looked towards the sky, the sun still shining brightly in the sky, "This had better be worth every life it took."

"Yeah, why would this place even have WMDs?" One of the infantrymen responded.

"I know, Soleanna is just a glorified vacation spot," The other added.

The specialist looked back down to the dead bodies, the smoking rubble, the blood-stained shoreline, and drones continuing to fire upon the rubble line of former houses, "No, not anymore. Soleanna's a graveyard."

_Those guys saved my life that day. If I did even one thing differently, we might not be having this interview. That woman, Topaz, lost her leg because of me. The guy in charge of the demo squad, dead because of me. I don't even know his name. My friends, the one's I knew? They all died when the boat flipped over. So, to answer your question: what being in G.U.N is like... It's not worth the college tuition, you're better being unemployed than working for the president, its crazy. Then again, in G.U.N, at least for the combat forces, we're all crazy. We're crazy in a world where blue hedgehogs run at supersonic speeds and two-tailed foxes make better equipment than the Mobius' dominant superpower. That, Ms. Garcia, is true crazy._

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><p><strong>End of the prologue, so please tell me what you think. Or don't, you're in charge of your body after all.<strong>


	3. Hired GUN

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

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><p>Chapter 1 - Hired G.U.N<p>

"So what you're saying is our military is letting mentally ill soldiers protect our borders?" The reporter, one Scarlet Garcia, asked the man she was interviewing. She shoved her tape recorder into his face waiting for his reply.

Westwood took a long drag of his cigar and blew the smoke out to the air, adding to the thin cloudy haze hovering over them both, "No, no. That was just a joke. G.U.N has a very... extensive mental evaluation for all of its servicemen and women."

Scarlet brought the recorder back to her lips, "Really? Well, that's reassuring. Any comment on what its like?"

Westwood nodded his head, "Some boring white guy checks if you're another boring white guy. If you are, then he gives you your badge and gun," Westwood responded, flashing his G.U.N badge and taking another hit of his cigar.

"Another joke, I'm guessing? Very funny," Scarlet said, her face looking completely unamused.

Westwood cracked a smile, "I like to think it's my humor that got me through my service so far."

Once again, Scarlet stretched her arm out, putting her recorder right in Westwood's face, "Speaking of that, whatever happened to the other man who was with you? The communications guy?"

Westwood tapped his cigar on the tip of the ash tray on the arm of his chair, "Oh, you mean Herman? Last I heard, he left G.U.N for some mercenary group."

Scarlet furrowed a brow, "He left to become a private security contractor?"

Westwood let out a chuckle, "Yeah, that's a real nice way to put it," His voice then switched to one full of general disgust, "He's just as dirty as any other deserter. After Soleanna, he changed. For the worse."

Scarlet, now intrigued by Herman, kept prying, "Do you know what he is doing now?"

Westwood leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Uh, I think Topaz mentioned he was somewhere in Shamar. We tried keeping in touch with the rest of the guys that survived, but he was the hardest," He took another puff of his cigar before putting it out, then wiped the stray ash from his dress uniform "We weren't his friends anymore. He found new ones; money and good old Spangonian wine."

"Shamar? I thought the U.F. pulled our troops out of the region. Why would he be there," Scarlet leaned forward in interest, waving the smoke from in front of her face.

Westwood looked up to the lone ceiling light that dimly kept the room from being draped in darkness, "Topaz said something about some defected scientists. They were selling some schematics for the ARK's old eclipse cannon to the Shamari military. Or at least they were trying to..."

_Go on._

_Uh, it was pretty serious stuff, I'm not sure why the Federation didn't get directly involved. Probably because we just left. Makes sense in hind sight, send a couple of paid muscle to deal with your problem, instead of another military operation, and the average Joe is still head-over-heels in love with you._

_Are you sure this is something we should even be talking about?_

_You wanted a story, right?_

He kept running, the cool night's air filling his lungs with each pant as he just kept himself moving. The forest's many trees consumed his vision, he was running blind, but he couldn't stop. He looked to the night's sky, the moon hung low, lighting his vision. Any moment it would happen.

"Blade!" He heard a familiar voice cry his name out. It was her's.

Blade looked back, his black fur concealing him in the forest's shadows, all but his blood-red eyes, "Serenity! I told you not to follow me!" He screamed back to the white fox, "I can't control myself!"

She ran into Blade's arms, hugging him tight, "I don't care if you're a Werehog! I love you!" She gripped his body tighter, "I know you won't hurt me!"

Blade removed his leather jacket and put it on her, revealing his muscular chest, "I love you too, but I don't want to take that chance," Blade's red eyes started to fill with tears.

Serenity looked up to Blade with a reassuring smile, "But it's a chance I'm willing to take for you..."

"AUGHHHHHH!"

Static.

"AUGGH-HHHH-HHHHH"

More static.

"God dammit, tell me the power's out again!" The purple weasel smacked the television set. It was an old appliance, one that they would sell twenty years ago, the dirt and damage to the set showed its age. In Shamar though, only the rich could afford it, "I swear if this bloody thing doesn't come back on!" He hit it several more times, kicking the dust off of his brown gloves. The dust flew throughout the hot, arid air, "I can never watch my shows in this God-forsaken hellhole!" The room was almost empty, albeit a torn up couch and television set inhabited it. The morning light invaded the room in elegant beams from the openings, made to look like windows, in the room.

Another man stepped in to the room, his boots carried the sound of each individual step clearly throughout the building. The human stopped near the doorway. Dressed in a navy blue shirt and khakis, he looked like someone you didn't want to mess with. Now add the countless pouches and holsters he had strapped on to himself, and he was death incarnate, "Nack, you still messing with that?"

The weasel snapped back to the man with a look of pure fright, "O-oh, Herman!" He settled down to a relaxed grin, "How are you doing?"

Herman furrowed a brow and stepped back a bit, "Fine, I guess-"

The mercenary was cut off by the television set blaring back to life, "Blade! No!" The Werehog chased Serenity throughout the forest, his thirst for blood yet quenched.

Herman looked back at Nack, his mouth gaping open, "You're seriously watching that?" He cracked a smile, "I think my niece likes it, too. She's team Blade, how about you?"

Nack sank back and gulped, "N-no, what? Me? C'mon mate, you know Fang's the baddest of the bad," He gave Herman a thumb's up.

"Fang?"

Nack nodded, "Oh yeah, call me Fang from now on."

Herman gave a hearty laugh, "And why's that?"

"I think it fits me, you know? No more Nack the Weasel. Now it's Fang the... Sniper!" He waved he arms out in front of him, pretending to display his name.

Herman crossed his arms in amusement, "Where did you come up with that?"

Nack simply waved it off, "Oh, you know, I'm just that creative, mate."

Suddenly the television blurred once more. Serenity had made it to a house in the suburbs, she lay by the door, panting and covered in sweat. A wolf with black and purple hair came to greet her, "Serenity? What's going on?"

"Fang! Thank God I found you! It's Blad-" The television slowly began to fill with static once more.

"Are you kidding me!" Nack pushed the television off its makeshift stand. He furiously pointed at Herman, "You didn't see a goddamn thing!"

Herman put his hands up defensively, "Calm down, Nack. I won't tell anyone."

Nack eased up a bit, lowering his shoulders, "Wow, really?" His angry expression wiped off his face in exchange for a blank one, "I mean, thanks mate."

"Yeah, sure thing Fang," Herman said with a smirk.

"Shut up."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, this chapter was just a fun little introduction to Herman, one of the main characters. He was originally just some guy from Sonic '06 that gave you that annoying Superman 64-esque ring trial thing.<strong>


	4. Preparations

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

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><p>Chapter 2 - Preparations<p>

_So, this Herman... which company did he join? Is he doing any harm while in Shamar?_

_He's with the Destructix. The news isn't telling us about any of the bad stuff, at least from what I've seen. They must like them._

The Shamari street was still, not a single person was outside. This had been life for years in the region, wars over oil and other natural resources devastated the lands. The wind quietly swept through the sandy village, and the birds held their chirps, save for a brave few. It was as if Mobius itself was mourning, still healing from the scars left from years of armed conflict. The hot air was covered in refraction, even the dwellings on the other side of the street were distorted by the waves. The village was populated by many people, but one would not know it as an outsider, as it consisted of one road and a haphazard placement of sand-covered huts and houses.

"Who the hell would even think about living here?" Herman took a peek out of a window in the Destructix outpost, "When are we moving out?"

"Like I would know, mate," Nack lay, sprawled out on a ragged, dirty couch with his sniper rifle rested on top of him. He lazily pressed the remote control, surfing the channels full of static, "Why don't you ask the boss?" Nack's eyes revealed themselves ever so slightly from the brim of his brown hat as his eyes met Herman's.

Herman nodded slightly, "Is he back yet?"

"I'm pretty sure. Not that I'd go lookin' for him," He shifted slightly, "Actually we should stop even talking about him."

Herman furrowed a brow, tilting his head slightly to the side, "What?"

Nack shook his head in disappointment, "I'm not going to mention the man when he's away."

"Why not?"

"Gents around here like to eavesdrop, and I'd rather keep my teeth."

Herman crossed his arms, "Really? Come on, he can't be that bad..."

Suddenly Herman's shoulder was greeted with an amazingly firm grasp, "You'd be surprised, old sport," Herman turned to the hand, it was ragged and gruff, like those of a hard-working older man. The entire palm was covered in a thick coat of callused skin, his fingers held an endless number of freshly scabbed over cuts and scars, and his nails were worn down immensely, with dirt and blood caked beneath them. Even the hair on the top of his hand was rugged, growing in coarse patches along islands of scarred skin. Herman quickly looked into his superior's eyes, they were no better than what he had already seen of him. His irises were two oases of deep blue in the ocean of red, irritated eyes.

His hand carried much weight, it was beginning to drag Herman down to the floor. It was then Herman truly saw his boss. He was an ape. A damn, dirty ape. His chest was only covered by a bandoleer, while his hulking legs were covered by combat trousers complete with knee pads and duty belt. He looked like a mascot for some community college. Herman stood erect when the force began to overwhelm him, hoping to impress his commander. It must have worked as the ape smiled as he removed his arm from Herman's shoulder.

"...Sir?" Herman spoke as he resisted the urge to relinquish the pain from his shoulder.

The ape fixed his metal helmet, "Ah, what can I do for you?" His gruff, powerful voice matched his complexion, but his words were those of a gentleman, not one trained for combat or fighting, but for negotiating and socializing.

"No disrespect, but you _are _the boss, right?" Herman asked, squinting his eyes slightly.

The ape gave a shallow, almost sarcastic laugh, "Why wouldn't I be? Because I'm an ape?" He shook his head, then extended his arm to meet Herman's with an open hand, "Sergeant Simian, but you will call me 'sergeant' or 'sir,'" His light-hearted expression turned to one of complete seriousness.

Herman quickly embraced his hand and shared the shake, "Uh, I'm Herman."

Simian's eyes looked past him, almost as if he were studying the other buildings from the room's openings, "I don't care," His eyes snapped back to Herman's, "There's a thousand like you under my control. You're nothing. I asked what you wanted, not your name."

Herman's heart ran into overtime when Simian's words registered in his brain. His blood felt as if it were boiling and his breathing got heavier, "I was just wondering when were moving out... sir."

Simian nodded his head slightly, then licked his dry lips, "We're moving out at sunset. We'll blend easier."

His simple answer was more than enough for Herman, "Yes, sir, understood. Uh, sir... thank you."

Simian smiled slightly, "Anytime, old sport," He proceeded past Herman to the room's "window" and rested his arms against it, "We'll finally make our move tonight. It's exciting, isn't it?" He turned to Nack and Herman who both nodded in unison. Simian turned back to the opening, viewing the other side of the village, smiling.

_Sergeant Simian? Herman was working for him?_

_Still is, he's grown fond of that monkey._

_What was their big 'move?' Did they stop the Shamari military?_

_It all took place on the Casino Night strip. They tried their best to stop them, didn't go too well. Surprised there wasn't a lot of media coverage, didn't seem too important to the U.F. I guess._

_What exactly happened? _

_What happened? You know if what happened that night happened three, even two years ago, I'd call you crazy. They would've all died, everyone, but fortunately they were spared. The official story is that some GUN special forces provided evac, problem is; nobody heard a helo, and even worse... U.F. troops are across the pond now, the response time would've been days, if not, weeks. They were saved by a friggin' hero._

_Who?_

_Sonic the Hedgehog._

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><p><strong>End of Chapter four, but sorry for the wait. I haven't had a lot of time to just write lately<strong>


	5. The Blue Blur

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 - The Blue Blur<p>

The sun was setting over the inhospitable desert plains of Shamar, the orange skyline was almost indistinguishable from the sand. A lone strip of road that seemed to go on endlessly was inhabited by a single jeep, a cloud of dust chased the vehicle as it was kicked up from the almost ancient pavement. In the distance lie a city, who's neon lights blanketed the surrounding desert. From a distance, the city seemed small, almost innocent. If one were to get up close, they would discover a haven for the corrupt; a place where crime, sin, and sex were a way of life.

Casino Night was the name of the internationally infamous city. It was the great jewel of the Shamari nation, a city where anything goes. The Destructix team was currently on their way, speeding down a long-forgotten stretch of road the led directly to Casino Night. The crew were loading their respective weapons, Nack carefully placed each bullet into his clips as Herman and Simian simply opened a briefcase full of already prepared weapons.

"Cheaters," Nack teased as he stared intently as he put his ammunition in just right.

"Excuse me?" Herman looked at the Weasel after he wrapped his fingers around a compact sub-machine gun. He also took a black tactical vest from the back of the jeep and slipped it on over his navy blue shirt.

Sergeant Simian took a set of pistols, jamming one in his holster and gave the other to the driver, "Care to explain those yellow tabs on your vest, old sport?" He subtly motioned to the aforementioned tabs.

Herman glanced at them, wiping off some dirt that had accumulated on them, "This was my service vest, sir."

Simian nodded slightly, "Ah, ex-military. So, what nation did you fight for? Apotos? Spagonia?"

"G.U.N, sir."

Simian gave out a hearty laugh, "G.U.N? Looks like we have a Federation boy! Weasel, how about you, old sport?"

"No, sir. Tried to enlist, got disqualified from service for medical reasons." Nack didn't move his eyes from his weapon, "Took up mercenary work, they were less strict. Had to find some way to get out of that bloody hell-hole... sir."

Herman looked over to Nack, "Where you from, man?"

Nack opened the bolt of his rifle and checked the insides of his weapon, "Downunda. Perfectly good place overall, mate, don't get me wrong. It's just my family, not really a 'home sweet home' kind of deal. My parents weren't good people and neither was my sister, decided to leave as soon as possible."

Simian observed Nack fiddling with his weapon, "Family trouble, a shame that's how we get recruits now a days. What became of your family?"

"Well my parents are still good-for-nothing knobs, but my sister's in the business too, sir." The weasel said before finally putting the clip inside his rifle and putting it down.

Simian rubbed his chin, gazing past the two in the back seat, "In the business? Does she work for me?"

Nack shook his head, "No, sir, she's freelance."

Simian gave a grin, "Maybe I'll find her one day. Herman! Why don't you share what brought you to the military?" He looked over to Herman with the same grin.

Herman rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window, "Well I didn't really have enough money for college, so G.U.N seemed a hell of a lot easier. Just made more sense to find a war than a job, sir."

"Then why did you join Destructix? Why not stay in G.U.N, old sport?" Simian's grin quickly faded.

"They threw me in the invasion of Soleanna. Lost a lot of friends, almost lost myself. Had to get out, sir."

"We're almost there, sir," The driver quickly spoke up, causing the mercenaries to shift their eyes over to Casino Night. The light from the strip quickly engulfed the jeep as they entered the outskirts of the city. The jeep shook with the sound of music coming from casinos, bars, and nightclubs as the parties seemed to spill out into the streets. Humans, Overlanders, and Mobians of all shapes and sizes littered the city streets chugging alcohol, showing off ample amounts of public affection, and fighting each other.

Simian put a hand on the driver's shoulder, "Look for the 'Scrap Brain;' that's our rendezvous."

The driver nodded, "Yes, sir."

"We've got contacts in the Scrap Brain Casino," Simian said to Herman and Nack while shoving a cigar in his mouth. He flicked a lighter on, the flame's illumination was drowned by the outside lights, "You boys aren't afraid of heights, right?"

Nack furrowed a brow, "Heights, sir?"

The jeep slowly came to a stop, "We've arrived, sir."

Simian looked at the looming tower of a casino with a wide smile on his face. Nack and Herman peered out their windows as well, both being captured by the awe that the casino possessed. The top was barely visible as it reached to the heavens. The top half was covered by the dark clouds of the night's sky.

"Take us around back would you?" Simian patted his driver on the back.

"Sir... why exactly did you ask us if we were afraid of heights?" Herman asked, staring at the large building.

Simian turned back and blew a cloud of smoke in the backseat. He shoved the cigar in the corner of his mouth and handed Herman a tan envelope, "I think it's time for your boys' briefing," Herman opened the envelope and grabbed several pictures from inside. He observed each of them closely; each picture showed men dressed in military fatigues accompanied by a portly man with a number of weaponized robots, "The man you see in the picture; the heavier one, we believed he is a defective G.U.N science officer. Possibly the same one who released Project Shadow and blew up the moon a year ago. The other men: Shamari soldiers. They've been having meetings for weeks now and the Federation has reason to believe that the science officer got his hands on the schematics for the ARK's eclipse cannon. We're going to stop the transaction from happening."

Herman gave the pictures to Nack, "How do we know that there is a meeting tonight, sir?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot, old sport?" Simian turned around and faced Herman with a scowl, "Of course I know. Our contacts in the casino have seen these individuals checking in today."

Nack studied the picture, "But these pictures were taken on a roof, not in any room. Sir."

Simian chuckled, "Hopefully you're not afraid of heights."

Again, the jeep came to a complete stop. They were parked in a back alley behind the towering casino, trash and junk littered the ground from overflowing dumpsters. It was almost pitch black thanks to the enormous shadow the building was able to cast, even at night. Simian, Herman, and Nack quickly sprang from the jeep, weapons ready, and moved towards the nearest back door.

"Meet us up front, old sport!" Simian motioned to the driver. The jeep pulled away and Simian led the group into the building. They were greeted by the smoke of a professional kitchen. Metallic equipment surrounded them as men and women in white scurried about, not even noticing the three heavily armed men. The smell was enough to almost choke Herman and Nack as exotic herbs and spices were being sprinkled and poured on various dishes.

"Dammit, this place stinks!" Nack plugged his nose, carefully balancing his rifle on one arm. Herman nodded his head and Simian simply grunted.

Suddenly, one of the chefs approached the group and faced Simian, "Ah, Mr. Simian," The man grinned, "We've been expecting you... Right this way," The man led them out of the kitchen through a slim door into a narrow hallway, barely decorated, or even carpeted. A lone elevator was placed at the end of the decrepit passageway. The chef smiled once more, "Take the elevator to the 70th floor. Their room is the second to last room. On your right."

Simian patted the man on the back, "Thank you, old sport."

"My pleasure. And please, have a nice day..." The man bowed slightly and left back to the kitchen.

Nack looked at Simian and Herman as they approached the steel elevator, "This is some creepy shite, let me tell ya."

Simian looked down at Nack, "You heard the man. Pile in."

Herman opened the door, "Yes, sir," He and Knack quickly entered into the elevator as Simian slowly stepped in, each step shaking the elevator. He pushed the number 70 as it dimly lit. A red one appeared on a small screen as the door finally closed, Herman and Nack cramped against the sides from Simian. With a loud screech, the elevator began to slowly lift as faint music began playing.

"So, here's the game plan, boys. We blow the door; me and Herman will take the initial resistance. Nack, you provide fire support, and take out anyone trying to flee. We shoot to kill today, gentlemen." Simian spoke clearly as the red number on the screen continued to rise.

"Yes, sir," Nack and Herman replied in unison.

Simian began to check his equipment, "Let's just try to avoid an international incident. This scientist is an extremely high value target. Calls himself Ro-"

A sudden blast threw the three in the air, the sound was deafening and the fall was quick. The lights went out as they remained silent throughout the dark fall, bracing for impact. The elevator gave out a metallic scream as they plummeted. They finally struck the ground, the steel elevator itself compacted and split from the impact. The trio quickly struck the ground.

"Ugh... Herman, Nack, you okay?"

"I'm fine, I think. Nack?"

"I feel alright," Nack reached on the twisted remains of the elevator's railing and lifted himself up, "AUHHHH!" With a thud, he fell back down, "Bloody hell, my leg's screwed! I feel the bone!"

Simian growled, "Dammit! We're falling back, get some other company to take the contract!" He gripped the ajar doors and slowly pulled them open. With a grunt he was able to shove them completely open and stepped out. He struggled to stand up, he was visible injured. He fed his hand through the wreckage to grab Herman, but was interrupted by the door to the kitchen getting slammed open.

The chef that had helped them earlier quickly stepped into the hallway, "Ah, Mr. Simian. What a mess you've made!"

Simian looked at the man, "Quick, you've got to help us, there were explosives!"

The chef stepped closer, "I know, sir."

Simian pulled Herman out of the wreck elevator, Herman was still tightly gripping his sub-machine gun. Simian looked back at the man, "We need evac. Now!"

"Sure," The chef reached behind his coat and pulled out a combat pistol. Before anyone could respond, he quickly fired a shot clean through Simian's head and sent another into Herman's shoulder.

"AH! Crap!" Herman gripped his shoulder with his free hand and returned fire as he fell to the floor, filling the chef's white uniform with tiny, red holes. The chef fired off his handgun in all directions as he fell, striking the walls and ceiling.

"What the hell is happening out there!?" Nack bellowed from the elevator.

Herman quickly got up and looked at Simian's blood stained head, "Dammit, they got the Sergeant!" Herman lifted Nack on to his shoulders, keeping his sub-machine gun free to fire. Nack screamed in pain as he was moved to his new position, "We have to get out of here!"

Herman went over to Simian's corpse and unholstered the ape's handgun, "Whoa! Herman what the hell are you doing?" Nack yelled in protest.

"Here, I have a feeling you'll need this," Herman handed Nack the pistol from over his shoulder, "Be ready to fire," Herman charged through the hallway and shoved the door open into the kitchen.

They were immediately greeted by a fireteam of Shamari soldiers, "Shite!" Herman and Nack instantly fired upon the team, killing two of the soldiers, then lept behind a nearby freezer as the soldiers began spraying the area. Nack again screamed in pain as they dove behind the appliance, "Could you watch the acrobatics, mate? Broken leg here!"

"Shut up, weasel," Herman quickly peeked behind the freezer but hid back behind it as a wave of bullets crashed in his direction. The soldiers continued to fire from a crouched position until they abruptly stopped. Herman peeked around again to see both of them fumbling with their clips to reload. Herman took the opportunity and fired two bursts at the soldiers which quickly tore into them and sent them to the ground.

"Freakin' amateurs, right mate?" Nack said with chuckle. Herman lifted him up again as Nack bit his pistol to suppress his screams.

"We have to get to the front of the casino for our ride, right?" Herman looked over his shoulder at Nack.

"Yeah, Simian said we'd meet him there."

Herman busted through the main kitchen doors to, what would normally be, a gorgeous casino lobby. However, the tourists and gamblers heard the fighting and began chaotically rushing to the exit at once, "We'll never get through this crowd!" Herman said as he began a brisk jog to the entrance.

"I got you," Nack said with a smile before firing his pistol off in the air, "Hey, get out the way you twats! Can't you see we've got somewhere to go?" Despite his discharge, the terrified mixture of Mobians and Humans did not budge, "Dammit.. Fine, have it your way!" Nack fired a round into a finely dressed man's kneecap. His scream of pain caused the rest of the group form a line for Herman and Nack to escape, "Damn right."

As they exited the casino, a white car with a flashing blue light quickly stopped in front of them and two soldiers emerged, "Drop your weapons, criminal scum!" One soldier commanded the two. Herman quickly dispatched the first soldier as Nack fired upon his partner.

"Remind me again how the Federation's been at war with these knobs for fourteen years," Nack said as they passed the deceased soldier's vehicle.

"Now's not the time!" Herman continued to jog until he spotted their jeep and began an all-out sprint towards it. The driver quickly got out of the jeep and ran over to them, "What the hell are you doing? Start the jeep!" Herman yelled as the driver continued to run towards them.

"What happened?" The driver took Nack from Herman.

Herman stopped for a second, "We were ambushed, we were betrayed by our contact, sent a fireteam after us. Simian's dead. Now we need to move!"

"What!? Simian's dead? How the fu- GET DOWN!" The driver gripped Nack with one arm and pushed Herman down with the other as a rocket slammed into the jeep, instantly destroying it. The trio followed the smoke trail to see the origin; an entire swarm of heavy assault drones, modified to resemble wasps. They poured out from all over the casino, breaking the windows from most the rooms.

"Game over, I surrender!" Nack dropped his pistol and threw his hands in the air.

Herman stood up and gave his comrade a death-stare, "You can't be serious! Well, I'm not going down like that!" Herman fired into the swarm, taking down a few as the crashed into the concrete with an explosion. The driver and Nack stayed prone on the pavement as Herman continued to fire upon them, "Get some! That's right! Come on, get some!" Herman yelled as he fired the last of his clip's rounds.

He retrieved another clip from his vest and began to reload. The swarm moved into position, "Hostile detected. Terminate."

The wasp-like drones fired mounted small arms, each round hitting Herman with expert precision. Thousands of rounds hit the ex-soldier, making him completely unrecognizable when he finally hit the ground. He was a simple mess of combat gear and meat.

"Oh shite!" Nack shut his eyes as the drones surrounded the driver and himself.

"Multiple hostiles detected. Terminate."

Nack and the driver flinched when the loud cracks of the small arms fire began, but in an instant felt as if they were thrown as fast the bullets themselves out of harm's way, "What the?" Nack looked at the swarm as its members quickly began to fire haphazardly as they quickly exploded one by one, "Self-destruct?"

"Hostile detected. Termina-" The final drone was reduced to a flaming pile of scrap in an instant.

A blue ball spun in the air before striking the ground with a cloud of debris circling it. A shadow of what looked to be a Mobian emerged from the dusk cloud. As the debris finally settled down the driver and Nack could not believe there eyes: a blue hedgehog appeared from seemingly nowhere. As it slowly walked towards the pair, Nack saw it was wearing what looked to be pristine white gloves and a shined pair of red shoes.

Nack quickly drew the pistol from the driver's holster, "Stay back you bloody freak! I'll kill you!"

The hedgehog chuckled and crossed his arms, "What? Are you going to shoot me? Go ahead, it's been attempted before," He cracked a grin as he stared at the purple weasel.

* * *

><p><strong>End of chapter 5. You may have noticed that Westwood had said Herman still works for Simian and all that in the interview. It's not a plot hole, let me assure you.<strong>


	6. Welcome Home

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 - Welcome Home<p>

Nack kept his pistol aimed at the hedgehog, "What the hell are you?"

The hedgehog rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure I'm the guy that just saved your life... So how about you drop the gun."

"Put the gun down, Nack," The driver insisted.

Nack growled at the both of them, "Hell no! What if that thing attacks?" He fixed the gun to aim at the hedgehog's center mass, "I'm not taking any chances!" The driver wrestled the gun out of Nack's grasp. The weasel struggled and tried to bite the man on the arm. The driver quickly stood up and pointed the handgun between Nack's eyes, "What are you doing you bastard!?"

The driver shook his head, "That's Sonic the Hedgehog you idiot!"

Nack looked back at the blue hero, "What?"

Sonic shrugged with a smirk, "Guilty as charged."

Nack looked up to the driver, "He- bu- what about Herman?" The driver glanced at the bloody mess that used to be a human being and slowly shook his head.

He spoke slowly and clearly, "That doesn't matter now, I couldn't get you all."

"Couldn't get us all, mate? What are you talking about?"

The driver flashed a badge in Nack's face, "Captain Andrews, G.U.N Federal Bureau of Justice. You're under arrest."

Nack's face slowly changed as he discovered what was happening, "What? What!? You guys gave us this damn contract!" Nack tried attacking Andrews, who simply walked out of the way and shot off a round into his uninjured leg, "AUGGHHH! Dammit!"

"Stop resisting," Andrews flipped the weasel over and knelt down on him.

"How can you arrest me? Your country gave us this contract!" Nack screamed as the sound of handcuffs clicking filled the air.

"Officially this contract doesn't exist, and you just gunned down six Shamari soldiers and an innocent chef," Andrews lifted the weasel by the scruff of his neck.

"They were trying to kill me you bastard!" Nack flailed his arms in protest, "I swear I'll kill you!"

Andrews rolled his eyes, "I'm just following orders, Nack."

Sonic simply observed the scene unfolding in front of him. Recalling mention of a man named Herman he quickly searched the area, almost immediately catching the sight of the human puddle. The hedgehog felt terrible after viewing the body, he was supposed to save them. He could've saved them all if he was just a little faster. The blue hedgehog knelt down beside the corpse, "Sorry bud, I wasn't fast enough for you..." Sonic stood up straight viewing what was once an incredible casino, but was now a hollow shell full of broken glass and dead bodies. He moved towards the deceased soldiers and their squad car, "Wasn't fast enough for you two either. I swear I will not stop unt-"

Sonic's vision was suddenly filled with a blinding light, "You, hedgehog! Freeze!" Another group of soldiers pulled up in an identical squad car, "On the ground, now!"

The hedgehog sighed, "Do you mind? I was kind of in the middle of an angsty, yet heroic monologue!" He yelled back at the soldiers.

"Open fire!" The soldiers fired upon the blue hedgehog, but in an instant he was gone. Only a trail of blue light remained, which quickly disappeared.

"Hey, boys!" Andrews approached the soldiers, flashing his badge, "That hedgehog didn't do a thing, this weasel's the cause."

The captain raised Nack by the scruff of his neck, "AH! Easy!"

One of the soldiers approached Andrews, "We'll take him into custody, we'll need you to take you in too, Mr..."

"Andrews, and no can do," He kept Nack close to his body, "I have to get back to the United Federation with him. We have some tortur- er, interrogating to do..."

_So, Sonic the Hedgehog saved the entire mercenary group?_

_According to Topaz they're doing fine. Apparently Herman sent her a letter recently, asking for quite a bit of money._

_Why?_

_I'm not sure. Knowing mercenaries though, it's probably nowhere near good._

Scarlet leaned back in her chair, taken aback by the impossible story, "That was incredible, Mr. Westwood."

Westwood chuckled slightly, "Please, call me John."

Scarlet nodded at the request, "So... John, I know you must be busy, and I thank you for taking the time out of your day to have this interview. I have one last question though," Scarlet reached to her arm out, putting the tape recorder closer to Westwood.

"Uh, go ahead."

"Have you read about the reports of royal soldiers openly attacking Federation peacekeepers?" Scarlet stared intently at Westwood, eagerly awaiting his response.

Westwood shuffled the thoughts around in his mind, picking what to say very carefully, "I'm sure the Kingdom of Acorn has their reasons for this. We're still on good terms with them, but who knows what will happen?"

"Do you think this could lead to war between the United Federation and the Kingdom of Acorn?"

Westwood shook his head, "No. The Mobians aren't stupid. When they went to war with the Overlanders way back, they almost got their asses handed to them. Compared to us, the Overlanders are... inferior, the Mobians wouldn't stand a chance."

Scarlet furrowed a brow, "Then what do you think is the cause of the fighting?"

"If I were to guess, I'd think the Mobians aren't behind it, the government I mean. It's probably some rogue soldiers who have a dislike for humans. After all, the Kingdom has a ban on guns," Westwood thought about what to say next, "Honestly I don't know what our guys can do. We fight back, then it could possibly be war. If we don't, more guys die, and something tells me the U.F. won't be so keen to pulling out of Westside Island."

"Well, hopefully nothing escalates further, John," Scarlet extended her arm towards Westwood. He took it and they shook, "Thank you for the interview, and more importantly, thank you for your service."

"Not a problem, thank you Ms. Garcia."

Westwood stood up from his chair and nodded to Scarlet. He quickly spun around and left the room after giving a quick 'goodbye.' The rest of the building was pristine, with floor tiles polished so nicely that they could be confused with mirrors. The walls were a clean white with a simple red stripe running down it, almost giving off the appearance of a detention center. He took a brisk walk through the winding hallways, men and women in scrubs populated the halls as well, quickly moving around to perform their duties.

Westwood slightly slid the cuff on his dress uniform and checked his watch. He was making good time, that impromptu interview didn't take as long as he expected. Hell, he didn't mind sharing some cool war stories, even if he did exaggerate a lot of it, but who didn't? He made a sharp turn, almost taking out a couple nurses, into a wing labeled "Physical Therapy." He kept a brisk pace, partly to be on time, and partly because he didn't want to get caught smoking in a hospital. Hopefully no one would meander into his and Scarlet's temporary interviewing room.

"Dr... Niven she said?" Westwood muttered to himself as he side-stepped between rows of identical wooden doors.

"Excuse me, sir?" A young woman attracted Westwood's attention. She was wearing her nursing scrubs so he decided to give her his full attention, "Can I... help you with anything?"

Westwood gave her a smile, "Oh, I'm just visiting someone, do y-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you are, but all visitors must first check in and get a pass. I don't see a pass, you can't be walking around here," The nurse crossed her arms, "So go check in."

"Whoa, hey, it's alright, he's with me!" A voice a the end of the hallway interrupted the nurse. It was Topaz, also in her dress uniform, although she was now wheelchair-bound, "Hi, Westwood!" She sped down the hallway, despite her doctor's orders, with a child-like grin on her face. She stopped in front of Westwood, imitating a drifting race car with her mouth, "I get my prosthetic in a couple days!" She tapped what was left of her amputated leg, "I'll finally be out of the chair!"

The nurse cleared her throat, stopping Topaz. She looked at the two of them, "Passes. Now."

"Sure thing, miss," Westwood pushed Topaz down the hall towards an elevator.

He looked down to the back of her short blonde hair, "So why are you in uniform?"

She turned back to him, her smile reaching almost ear to ear, "Doctor says it helps with therapy. Says it makes me feel stronger, more badass, you know?"

They reached the elevator and he pressed the ground floor. After a few moments the doors flung open. Westwood wheeled Topaz in and stood next to her.

She looked up to him, "Welcome home, Westwood."

And with a beep, the doors closed shut.


	7. FUBAR

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 - FUBAR<p>

Everything seemed to be going by so fast. That's how he liked it.

His feet barely touched the ground as he sped through the arid desert of the Federation's southwest. Landmarks such as odd rock formations or the occasional hut or roadside store, blew past him at incredible speeds. He kept his eyes directly in front of him, focused on the surrounding desert, sometimes sidestepping and dogging the odd obstacle that flew his way, "Gotta go fast!" Upon saying those three words he stopped dead in his tracks, the wind catching up and blasting past him.

"That... sounded a lot better in my head..." The blue hedgehog slightly chuckled to himself, "Wow, that was like, really bad!" He stiffened his legs in front of him and allowed himself to fall to the soft ground, "I seriously need a cool catchphrase," He folded his arms and rested them behind his head, taking in the sky and all of its beauty.

Sonic shifted his body around to get even more comfortable as he vigilantly watched the skies. A lone jet raced across the sky and sped past his field of vision. Sonic followed the jet's movements for a couple seconds before shrugging it off and focusing on the sky yet again. It was peaceful, but far from the perfect, cloudless sky many loved to see. The usual deep blue sky that Mobians were used to seeing was replaced by sheet of white and grey clouds. What it showed was the early signs of a possible storm, the desert usually didn't see many of those. Sonic kept watch on the clouds, he wasn't worried about the rain, in fact he could outrun any storm really. What he didn't like was the smell rain brought along, something that was already invading his nostrils.

He looked west, over toward Station Square and Central City. It was shrouded in darkness, it was weird to see one part of the world experiencing night while it was barely morning where he stood. While he was out having the time of his life, others where fast asleep in Station Square. People like Topaz and Westwood.

Two more jets zipped across the sky side by side.

That was odd, G.U.N didn't really patrol the desert that much. This part of the Federation didn't really have a big population, especially this close to Pumpkin Hill. Sonic chuckled to himself, remembering where he was and turned to view some of the giant mountains carved like Jack o' Lanterns in the distance. Who could have possibly made those? They were so freaking weird, and nobody even knew where they came from. Sonic recalled the time Knuckles had searched for the Master Emerald in that area, he was glad to not have gone there himself. Pumpkin Hill gave everyone the chills.

Cracks sounded in the sky as more and more jets tore through the landscape, "Huh?" Sonic jumped to his feet, his thoughts shattered by the military jets. He looked towards the source of the noise. Vulkan fighters and Blue Eagle bombers soared in a massive swarm, closely followed by G.U.N's flagship, the G.U.N Fortress. The presence of such a ship meant business, this wasn't some training exercise.

Sonic traced a few jets to see where they were heading.

They were racing to the South, towards the sea. He decided to follow, making sure to keep up with the jets, the smell and sight of smoke quickly attacked him. This wasn't good. The jets above him joined up with a larger attack force, it looked like an entire division from the Air Force.

He slid to a stop, his shoes filling halfway with water from the sea. He stood in awe over the battle; jets were firing off their machine guns and rockets, most were being shot down from oncoming laser fire. Laser beams swept across the sky, ripping apart everything in their paths. G.U.N was fighting back hard however, and were getting their fair share of eliminations. As soon as the G.U.N Fortress arrived, victory would be theirs.

The enemy was a fleet of large aircraft, each looking like some sort of sea animal. The larger ones looked like whales and sharks, while the small fighters looked like a school of deadly fish. They were outfitted with laser weaponry, more advanced than G.U.N's weapons. Still, G.U.N was able to hold their own against the invasion force. One of the larger vessels, a whale, started to advance by moving closer to the land. Almost on queue, it was destroyed instantly by a few powerful, well-placed shots. The G.U.N Fortress had arrived.

Focusing its fire on more of the ships, the G.U.N fighters developed a pattern. The Fortress would fire off a shot to cripple an airship, and the Blue Eagles would perform a bombing run on the ships. The bombing runs put a sizable dent in the enemy forces before the bombers were wiped out. Sonic could barely hear himself think over the gunfire and explosions. He wanted to help, but how could he? He searched for anything that could elevate his position, a hill or building, anything really. Sonic could only look on, completely useless.

Then he saw it.

Amid the smoke and carnage, the enemy's flagship bellowed forward. The Egg Carrier.

"Eggman," Sonic uttered under his breath, "When did he have the time to build all of this?"

The Egg Carrier's weapons began to charge, it was so deafening even Sonic jerked from the noise. The G.U.N Fortress positioned itself to attack Eggman's prized ship. It began unloading the many weapons crammed onto the vessel. Every bullet and missile struck the Egg Carrier with devastating force. When the G.U.N Fortress eased on the attack, nothing but black smoke filled the air where the Egg Carrier had occupied.

Suddenly a red laser beam erupted from the smoke cloud and tore through the G.U.N Fortress' left side. A large explosion blew out of the flagship, causing it to slowly barrel to the right. Another beam closely followed, striking the ship dead center. The shock wave that emitted from the damaged flagship sent Sonic into the air and propelled him backwards. Most of the aircraft in the battle helplessly plunged into the sea after being thrown by the shock wave. The G.U.N Fortress was beginning to fall to the sea as the Egg Carrier fired another beam at the vessel. The Fortress was ripped apart, another shock wave threw Sonic back again, dragging him against the soft sands of the beach.

Any G.U.N aircraft in the area was quickly destroyed by the enemy forces. The survivors tried swimming to safety in vain; the fighters flew low to the water and unloaded their machine guns into the G.U.N Airmen and women.

Sonic watched on in horror, he opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words to describe it. He watched as the fighters picked off the surviving Airmen. He couldn't just watch, he needed to save them.

He couldn't swim, however. Water was terrifying, he would drown for sure, but he couldn't think about that now. He took a couple steps back and prepared to run. Without hesitation, he quickly moved on the the water's surface, trying to grab as many Airmen as he could, dodging a hail of gunfire as well. He grabbed one survivor with each hand, quickly placed them on the nearby beach, and sprinted back on the water for more.

He grabbed another two, and another, and another. This was going a lot better then expected, he was now searching for more survivors as he moved on the sea. He ran past a swarm of fighters and avoided their gunfire, well most of it. One lucky bullet embedded itself in Sonic's side, making his spin out of control into the water. He threw his arms and tried to grasp for the surface once he was submerged. This was only delaying the inevitable, he slowly started sinking and had to let out his breath. He tried breathing in, his lungs quickly filled with water.

_This is how it ends, huh? _Sonic thought to himself as he allowed himself to peacefully sink, _You save the world from the ARK, Eggman, Shadow, all that... And you drown. _A slight smirk grew on his mouth,_ At least I did the best I could, took an entire fleet to finally get me!_

The last thing he saw before blacking out was the Egg Fleet advancing to the United Federation's shores.


	8. What I Need

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6 - What I Need<p>

Station Square, the pinnacle of culture in the United Federation. This was the place all roads meet, where every Mobian made the pilgrimage to see the sights of the sprawling metropolis. The city truly was beautiful, only being topped by the country's capital; Central City. While Station Square was an excellent place to visit and stay in a nice hotel, it was completely different to live there. Constant traffic and tourists can make anyone go crazy, and when there's a lot of tourism there's a lot of crime.

This day was no different, the streets were packed with commuters, taxis, and buses while the sidewalks were loaded with pedestrians. Included in them was Westwood, who was maneuvering Topaz through the hordes of citizens.

"So what did you mean back there, 'Welcome Home?'" Westwood chirped up while sliding Topaz out of the way of an oncoming flock of businessmen.

Topaz looked back to Westwood and slightly fixed her dress beret, "Well, the whole Soleanna occupation kinda made people... I dunno, pissed at the Government I guess," She explained, "We're not really heroes to a few, this uniform is a target when it comes to these hippies," She motioned to Westwood's dress uniform, then at her's, "I mean that nurse was being rude as hell, right?"

Westwood nodded, "Yeah, I guess. She was just doing her job, though."

Topaz shrugged, "I've seen her be a lot nicer to some of the hotter guys that came into physical therapy."

Westwood furrowed a brow, "Maybe I'm just not cute enough."

"C'mon Westwood, you're adorable!" They both shared a laugh as they stopped to get ready to cross the street. Traffic zipped back and forth like a wall of metal, a typical Tuesday in Station Square.

"So, uh, when were you going to explain this?" Westwood rubbed Topaz's blonde hair which was now an extremely short high and tight. The sides of her head were completely shaven down while the top had just a bit more hair.

"The Doc said the less weight on my head, the better and faster the recovery would be," Topaz jerked her head from Westwood's hand.

"That sounds like a load of bull," Westwood snickered, "I think he just wanted to make you look as ridiculous as possible."

"Yeah? Laugh all you want, check these babies out!" Topaz rolled up her sleeve and flexed her arm, her bicep protruded out, "Physical therapy makes you sexy!"

Westwood examined her arm, she looked like she could easily take him in an arm-wrestling contest, "Topaz, I think you're actually turning into a man," The traffic light on the other side finally signaled for them to go and Westwood moved them both across the street.

"I think you're just jealous," Topaz rolled down her sleeve but continued to flex.

Westwood shook his head, "I'm not going to lie, but I am."

They continued on their way, downtown Station Square, this is where Sonic the Hedgehog saved the city from Chaos a couple years back. The city never fully healed, however. They were near ground zero, some buildings were closed, destroyed, or showed considerable damage. Loud beeping and engines sounded off as construction crews still worked to repair the damage.

The pair eventually passed an old burger joint, one that was around before Chaos' attack on the city, "Hey, Westwood, let's grab a bite to eat real quick," Topaz commanded.

Westwood looked at the restaurant, "Yeah, sure, I haven't had anything to eat since I got back," He pivoted Topaz towards the door and moved her to it.

"So what did you do after... you know, Soleanna?" Topaz made conversation as they crossed the street to the burger joint.

Westwood bit his tongue, "Well after Soleanna was wrapped up, I got deployed to Holoska."

Topaz gasped and chuckled, "Well how was that bud?"

Westwood chuckled slightly and rubbed the back of his head, "You know, just a couple months of thirty below weather. It sucked... Hard. Just got back, actually."

They arrived at the joint and Westwood began to get her in, "Haha, I bet!"

He had trouble getting her wheelchair through the door as the bottom of the frame stopped them. As he was trying to get her through the glass door swung open and rung a bell, alerting everyone to their presence. The two people behind the counter and the lone customer quickly stared at Westwood and Topaz. They watched as Westwood struggled to get Topaz through the door.

One of the workers, an older man, behind the counter shook his head at the pair, "No."

Westwood shot up and looked at the man, "Huh?"

"No, go. Get out, go." The man calmly said while rubbing his thick, gray hair.

Westwood stood in place, "Excuse me?"

The old man threw his hands on the table, startling the young girl working with him, "I said get out! Leave! We don't serve your kind!"

Westwood and Topaz jerked back after the man yelled, "Who the hell-"

"Westwood, let's just get out of here," Topaz cut him off, "I want to go home anyway."

"You heard her! Get your murdering asses out of here!"

Westwood pulled Topaz back out to the sidewalk, defeated. He pushed her past the joint and turned back to look at it. It was only then he saw the national flag of Soleanna flying proudly over the sign of the store. They weren't downtown anymore, they were in a cramped ghetto, the streets, sidewalks, and buildings showed cracks and aging. If that fiasco had happened downtown hopefully someone would have jumped in on their side.

Westwood thought of a million things he could of done to that store owner, portraying himself as the righteous hero in every imaginary scenario. He made himself out as a bad ass who would've just punched that old man out, but in real life he was nothing of the sort. Plus, Topaz would've probably stopped him, most likely with force because she looked a lot stronger than him. She didn't talk the rest of the way to her home, however. Topaz might be physically stronger than himself, but emotionally? No, that store owner got to her, he felt bad for her.

"This is it," Topaz finally spoke up, knocking Westwood from his thoughts. Instinctively he stopped in his tracks and looked at her, "My apartment building. This is it."

Westwood observed the tall, rundown, red brick building. He wheeled her up to the door and she reached up to the dirty intercom and pressed it, "Lou, let me in."

A static-filled voice emitted from the tiny speaker, "Uhhhh, Topaz, that you?"

"Yeah, Lou..."

"Did your mom pick you up again?"

Topaz sighed and reluctantly pressed the button to speak again, "No, Lou."

A faint 'dammit' was heard on the other side, and the door unlocked, swinging inside slightly. Westwood gently used Topaz's wheelchair to push open the door. The lobby of the apartment building was in poor condition to put it nicely. The walls showed significant cracks and rundown paint, the ceiling had terrible water damage, and a majority of the carpet was ripped up, some dry rotted wood was exposed from underneath.

"Home sweet home,' Topaz weakly said. Westwood nodded to himself slightly, "Over there," She pointed to a rusted out elevator that showed remnants of white paint.

Westwood slowly wheeled her over, "Are you sure this is... safe?"

"Probably," She pressed a button next to the elevator and the doors slid open. As they boarded the old elevator, it swung back and forth with each movement, "I'm on the third floor."

"Roger that ma'am," Westwood pressed the three button and it dimly lit. The elevator's mechanisms spurred loudly to life and they begun to rise, subtly swinging all the way, "So what's your room number?"

"One. It'll be on your left."

The elevator came to a stop with a low ding. Westwood wheeled her out and pivoted to the left. He set her in front of her room. She rummaged through her uniform coat pocket and retrieved her keys, "Thanks, Westwood. It's nice to see you back in the U.F."

She unlocked the door and rolled herself inside. Westwood smiled, "You too Topaz. It's been a hell of a first day back," He looked out the far window in her apartment, it was already dusk. They continued to stare at each other for a few moments, "Do you have someone that's going to look after you?"

Topaz nodded, "Yeah, my mom is supposed to stop by. She usually doesn't keep her word, but I can manage myself."

Westwood looked out the window again, this part of town gets a bit dangerous at night, so he's going to have to hurry up. It was a good night for a jog, after all, "Alright, I'll see you around Topaz. Take care of yourself."

"Westwood, can you... I don't know, can you.." Topaz looked down at her floor and bit her lip, "Can you stay with me?"

This took Westwood by surprise, his blood started heating up and heart pounded in his chest. All he could muster was a, "Huh?"

"I'm tired of being alone all the time, reminds of this I guess," She motioned to her amputated leg, "I just want to feel normal, you know? I just..."

"...Want somebody to talk to?" Westwood chimed in.

Topaz nodded, "Its more than that, I need to feel human. Not just something tied to a damn chair," Westwood stepped inside her apartment and closed the door behind him, "Its been like this for almost a year Westwood, nobody knows me here. I'm just the weird chick with one leg. Hell, the only person I kept up with from G.U.N besides you was Herman," Westwood sat on a couch near Topaz, causing dust to float into the air, "It was agonizing waiting for those letters, I'd go days without talking to another human being besides the Doc."

"What about the other patients?" Westwood rested his arm on the back of the couch, pushing up more dust. Judging by the state, nobody had sat on this couch for a while.

Topaz slightly nodded, "Yeah. The first couple of days I talked to them," She positioned herself to look out her window, the orange sky hid behind the large skyscrapers in the distance, "Then they found out I was G.U.N... Most of them were in there because of a bombing run we did on Radical Highway when we tried to stop Shadow the Hedgehog. It didn't go to well after that..."

Westwood honestly didn't know what to say, what could he say? He grabbed Topaz's shoulder, "I'm sorry Topaz, I wish we were there with you. Me and Herman, we could've been there for you."

Topaz chuckled slightly, "C'mon, if you were there it'd be because you lost your arm or something. It's over now, at least we're talking. Besides you were in Holoska, I wouldn't want you missing out on the fun that place has to offer, am I right?"

The mere mention of Holoska was like a thorn to his ears, "Yeah, haha. Right."

Topaz lifted herself slightly off of her wheelchair, prompting Westwood to help her on to her couch, she comfortably reclined and Westwood sat back down next to her, "Does this mean you're staying?"

Westwood started undoing his tie, "Of course, I'm here for you now Topaz."

"Thanks."

Westwood nodded, "No problem."

Topaz looked over at Westwood, "What I said before? About being normal and human? That doesn't leave this room, do you understand?"

Westwood laughed, "Yes, ma'am!"

Topaz gave him a slight smile, "Good... This is what I've needed. For a long time."


	9. Cold Shoulder

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 - Cold Shoulder<p>

The wind howled as it sent another volley of frigid air at his face. The blast made his goggles frost over and his breathe bellowed like smoke from under his face mask. He tightly gripped his ice cold rifle, hugging it close to his body with the barrel pointing towards the cloudy sky. He looked down at himself, his black uniform perfectly contrasted with the pristine white snow and ice that surrounded him. He tapped his numb fingers against the rifle's trigger guard, anything to bring back feeling to his hands. He slightly bounced in place to check if his legs were in fact still there. He felt like he was just a floating torso, everything else consumed by his frosty surroundings.

"Hey, Westwood!" Another soldier approached him, his uniform making the soldier look like a shadow, "You are... Properly relieved, my man," He informed his comrade with a goofy voice inflection.

Westwood almost jumped with joy, "Finally, I think I almost froze out here."

The soldier stopped before Westwood, resting his rifle on his shoulder, "What? It's not that bad," He waved his hand in the chilling air.

"Yeah, for now," Westwood started walking back to the outpost, a crudely put together group of metallic buildings in the distance, "A couple hours of guard duty and you'll want to die."

The soldier shook his head, "Thanks for pumping me up, man!"

The pair shared a short chuckle, "See you back at base, Parr."

With each step Westwood took, the snow crunched under him. The sound was almost enjoyable to him, if he wasn't ninety percent frozen at the moment. The only thing he could think about was sitting inside one of the outpost buildings and being able to relax from the frigid outdoor temperatures. The thick, gray smoke emitting from the camp gave him a surge of joy... Fire. Sweet fire. Warmth.

Holoska was the polar opposite of Soleanna. The comforting beaches and peaceful shores were replaced with chilling ice and winds that bombarded him at every chance. Westwood carefully climbed a small hill leading to the camp, taking extra precautions so no snow entered his boots. He slid his rifle to his shoulder and pulled on the sling, keeping it locked in place. He could already hear the distant chatter of the other soldiers back at camp. It was a welcomed sound, Westwood cracked a smirk at the distance camaraderie.

When he finally reached the top of the hill, he could view the entire base. Only four metal buildings stood, a mess hall, command center, barracks, and armory. Bunkers and defensive towers were also scattered around the encampment. Westwood began making his way to the mess hall, wanting to get something, anything, in his stomach. It's been way too long since the last time he had anything to eat.

He made his way past three soldiers gathered around a campfire, the cause of the smoke. Each of them nodded to him, and he returned the gesture, "Westwood," One of the soldiers called, his rank on his helmet was that of a corporal.

Westwood folded his arms behind his back and moved his feet apart, turning to the corporal, "Yes, corporal?"

"Go see lieutenant Lodge, she wanted to talk to you after your guard duty," The corporal said, not bothering to leave the fire, "She's in her office."

"Yes, corporal," Looks like he wasn't getting anything to eat after all, damn. He turned from the mess hall and shuffled over to the command center.

Well if he wasn't warm before, now he definitely was. His blood came to a nervous boil, what could the lieutenant want? Did he do something wrong? Did he forget to fill out a report, or forget to sign out his weapon? G.U.N loved their freaking paperwork. Westwood didn't enlist to be writing all day, he was infantry, not some human resources waste of space. Actually, taking everything that has happened, maybe he should've enlisted as a human resources specialist.

He approached the frosted door of the command center, the heavy steel door wouldn't budge on its own. A small card reader slowly blinked red, illuminating its space on the side of the door. Westwood fumbled around in his vest pockets, poking around his spare clips, grenades, and other combat essentials, until he finally retrieved his key card. He swiped it through the card reader and awaited entry. The card reader gave a steady green light and the steel doors slid open with ease.

He stepped inside and was instantly greeted by the artificially warmed air. Westwood stood in the doorway for a moment, just taking in the comforting warmth. The snow and frost on his uniform quickly melted off, making everything weirdly damp and uncomfortable. A pair of footsteps came crashing in behind him, it was Parr.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Westwood asked the bumbling soldier, "Why aren't you at your post?"

Parr smiled under his mask, "Clayton relieved me, told me to see Lodge. I don't know, but it sounded important," Parr's smile became even wider, "Besides, you need a battle buddy, what were you thinking?"

Westwood rolled his eyes from behind his blacked out goggles, "Oh, yeah, forgot."

The pair started to make their way through the twisting mazes of hallways and tight corridors. Everything was made of metal, and everything always seemed to be under construction, evidenced by the combat engineers constantly working. Their royal purple tabs shining on their vests from their torches ripping into the building's steel. The constant chatter and sparks raining to the floor made the entire base a hazard, hopefully they were too far off the grid for a formal inspection. The brass would have this place shut down in a heartbeat.

"What do you think she wants?" Parr finally spoke as they turned another corner.

Westwood continued to wonder that himself, "I don't know man, maybe we're getting promoted," He joked. Westwood had been promoted a couple times after Soleanna, his helmet proudly showed the rank of Specialist. Parr himself was only promoted once, his helmet had one chevron still... still a private.

Despite only being a private, Parr knew how to get things done. He wasn't like Westwood, as a private he was a bumbling idiot, it seemed as though that rank makes a man lose all common sense, "I hope, finally get a good pay raise."

Westwood chuckled to himself at Parr's response, "Yeah, right, G.U.N will come up for a reason for giving you another pay cut."

"'We need the funding for the war effort,'" Parr imitated something a high ranking officer would tell him for the said pay cut.

Westwood brought his hand to the forehead of his helmet, "Oh, woe is enlisted."

"Got that right, man."

They finally reached the door of Lieutenant Lodge. Westwood softly knocked on the door. A firm, "Yes?" Came from the other side.

"It's Specialist Westwood and Private Parr, ma'am," He replied, "Permission to enter, ma'am?"

"Of course, come in," Something about the way she said that put Westwood and Parr at ease and lower their shoulders. Westwood opened the door and the two soldiers filed in and stood at attention, "At ease," They folded their arms behind their back and spread their legs. Lieutenant Lodge sat up from her desk, the silver bar on her dress uniform shined in the light.

She observed the two, "How are you two holding up?"

"We're doing fine, ma'am," Westwood spoke for the both of them. Parr stayed queit.

She observed the two before her gaze permanently found itself on Westwood. She reached out from behind her desk and pulled out a bottle, "Ouzo. From Apotos," She quickly flashed the bottle to the two soldiers, "I think it's kind of unique... Tastes like licorice."

"My grandparents were from Apotos, ma'am. I'm all too familiar with Ouzo," Parr finally spoke up.

She nodded slowly, "It took a lot of favors for me to get this bottle here," She studied her bottle of liquor, "Luckily I have no shortage of those."

Parr found himself also staring at the Ouzo, "I can imagine, ma'am."

The Lieutenant chuckled, then pulled out a single glass, "I've found myself drinking alone more and more. Ever since we arrived at this glacier," She gently set the bottle next to it and folded her hands, "Holoska does keep it cold, though."

Westwood had absolutely no idea where this was going. Was she inviting them for drinks? Was that even legal?

She stared at the pair of them, before quickly tapping on her thighs, "Listen up, I know this might not be the easiest thing to do. If you have any problems with this mission, tell me, and I'll... Deal with you personally," What the hell is going on? The way she said that made Westwood and Parr tense up, "I have something I need you two to do."

* * *

><p>Westwood's eyes snapped open, the darkness surrounding him was disorienting. He sat up on the couch breathing heavily from his mouth, he tried looking around, but all he could see was pitch black. He slowed his breathing as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he was still at Topaz's. He looked to his side to see her also fast asleep, snoring loudly. His dress coat was hanging at the door and his shirt was comfortably untucked, as was Topaz's.<p>

Westwood let out a sigh of relief, he was safe, no snow, no Holoska. That dream had replayed over and over again, never letting him forget about that deployment. Luckily, he woke up before anything happened, before _it_ happened.

He slid back on the couch, staring at the small apartment through the thick veil of blackness. The moon, or what was left of it, illuminated what it could, but was ultimately beaten back by the advancing darkness. Westwood remembered the day the moon was all but destroyed by Dr. Eggman. It was the reason he joined G.U.N, the reason why he signed his name on the dotted line and gave his life away for the United Federation.

He was younger then, when Eggman hijacked most of Mobius' communication signals and decided to interrupt his television shows. Westwood watched in horror when he blew the moon apart, and he remembered the feeling in his chest when Eggman threatened to attack Mobius next. After that, college wasn't an option for Westwood, he put down his books and picked up a rifle. He fought in the name of freedom, and the Federation, at least he let himself believe that.

"John?" Westwood's head snapped over to Topaz, "You okay?" She rubbed her eyes and focused on Westwood, but didn't bother moving from her spot on the couch.

"Yeah, Topaz, I'm fine," Westwood tried to assure her, "Just kind of woke up, you know?"

Topaz smiled and furrowed a brow, "John, we both know people like us don't 'just wake up.'"

"Hey, I'm fine," Westwood said, slinking further into the couch to get more comfortable, "And stop calling me John... It's weird."

"Whatever you say, Westwood."

"That's better, private," Westwood replied with a smirk.

"Um, excuse me?"


	10. Activated

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 - Activated<p>

The light. How did they make that light? It was so bright, too bright. He could feel himself going blind just by staring at it. He tried moving his arms to block out the intense shine, but discovered his arms were bound in place. As he tried to look down at his body, he discovered his head was also bound in place. He let out a grunt as he thrashed his arms and head around. He then tried to move his legs, but to no avail. He let out a scream as both legs emitted a pain worse then anything he had ever felt before. He caught his breathe as the pain subsided only to yell as again when he slightly shifted his left leg. He slowly remembered everything, why he was here, why his legs hurt so much.

"What the hell is going on in here!? Hey!" He yelled towards the light. It didn't answer his yelling, it only continued to shine with unrelenting force, "Somebody help me! Please! Help me!" He jiggled his arms to make as much noise as possible.

He heard faint talking in the distance, he was much too tired to make any of it out. A group of footsteps grew louder as they all approached. The sound akin to nails being dragged down a chalkboard filled the room as the footsteps entered the room. With a slam, they shut the door and stood behind the shroud of blinding light. One of the figures grabbed the light and turned it to face the ceiling. His vision was damaged by the light and he couldn't make out a thing.

As his vision slowly came back to him, a dark skinned man stood before him wearing a jet black suit. He made the figure out more, his bald head and piercing brown eyes were made more apparent, he recognized the man, "A-Andrews?"

The man smiled and nodded, "Hey, Nack. How are you doing?"

Nack looked around the room, two other people were in the room, both in professional suits. One was a portly woman in a tight skirt, while the other was a tall man who's identity was concealed by thick, black sunglasses, "What is.. all of this?" He continued to look around the empty room, the paint chipped off the walls and the ceiling showed considerable damage. Besides the four of them and the table Nack was on, only a bucket and rake were in the room.

"You're in the United Federation, we have some questions for you," Andrews answered. He took a glance back to the woman who nodded slightly. Andrews pulled out a small photo and kept it by his side.

"Andrews!" Nack yelled, getting the man's attention, "What in the bloody hell are you doing!?"

Andrews looked at him with a confused face, trying to hide a slight smirk, "Come on, you're tied in place, the crappy room, ominous light, those two back there..." He motioned to the speechless man and woman in the back, standing erect like statues, "I thought it was obvious?" He got closer to Nack, "I'm interrogating you."

Nack felt his face heat up with fear and rage, "You were one of us Andrews! You were our friend!"

Andrews chuckled and shook his head, "Nack... Nack, my call sign was 'Driver.' You guys literally called me Driver. And I was a driver!"

"Just because we were unoriginal doesn't mean you weren't one us."

Andrews looked at him with disbelief, "I was the only one with a call sign, Nack!"

Nack looked downwards, "Yeah... Sorry about that."

Andrews chuckled once again, "Are you apologizing? Do you really think I care about that? Nack, I don't think you really know how much crap you got yourself into. With Destructix meddling around in Shamar, you gave the U.F. a damn good reason to redeploy."

"You gave us the contract!"

Andrews chuckled, "Any evidence?"

Nack thought about that, "Yeah, the dossier in the jeep!"

"You mean the jeep that was conveniently destroyed?"

Nack stared into Andrews eyes, "Piss off."

Andrews nodded and stared back, "Sure, now how about you answer some questions?"

"Piss off."

"You work for the private military company Destructix, correct?" Andrews took a careful look at Nack's facial movements.

Nack simply looked back, expressionless, "Piss off."

"You know if you just answer the damn questions, we probably won't kill you," Andrews was careful to set the tone of the interrogation, "Now, have you ever come in contact with a Miss... Fiona Fox?" Andrews showed Nack the picture he had been holding. A red fox in a tactical vest, wielding a rifle, posed in front of a armored personnel carrier.

"Piss..."

"Nack!"

"Off..."

Andrews backed away from Nack, "Fine, you prick!" Andrews cleared his throat and regained his composure, "I mean, very well, Nack... We will get our information," The portly woman motioned to the other man. He took off his jacket and threw it carelessly on the ground. He grabbed the bucket from the corner of the room and brought it over to Nack. He gently set it down and pushed the table Nack was on roughly down. The table inclined so Nack's legs were above his head.

"Hey! What are you...?" The man rolled up his sleeves and reached into the bucket, pulling out a rag that had been soaking, "What? No... No, no, no, no, no... Wait! I'll talk, I'll-" Nack's vision and plea were cut off by the rag covering his face. He mumbled and grunted under the rag. He violently shook his head to get it off.

"On," The man said before pouring water of Nack's covered face. Nack held his breathe and felt the cool liquid run down his face, forcing its way down his nose, the burning pain rose throughout his body. He couldn't hold his breathe any longer, he needed air. As the water was poured on him, he took a gasping, deep breathe and immediately tried coughing up the large amount of water from his mouth. He gagged and continued to cough in vain as more water entered his lungs, the pain was unbearable and he weakly tried shaking out of his restraints.

"Off," The man said as he lifted the rag and allowed the weasel to regain some of his breath. Nack deeply breathed in and out, sucking down as much precious air as possible.

"Well, it's only a matter of time now," The portly woman said to Andrews, breaking their silence.

"On," The man said as he threw a rag over Nack's face and poured water over him. Nack's gurgling and coughing soon followed.

"Yeah," Andrews answered simply as he watched the waterboarding.

"Oh, Andrews, we need to talk. I have some news," The woman opened the door and motioned for Andrews to step outside with her.

Andrews looked back at Nack's interrogation, "But this is my favorite part," He said with a smirk.

The woman rolled her eyes, "Now, Andrews."

With that command, Andrews stepped outside of the tiny shack. It was surrounded on all sides by dense forest. A fleet of black vans were parked around them, along with more people in suits.

"Your unit is being activated, Andrews," The woman said.

Andrews looked in shock, "My unit? The Legion knows I'm working with the Bureau, right?"

"Yes, but apparently your commander knows best. Your work with us is suspended for now. Do your work with the United Federation Foreign Legion, and you can come back with us," The woman explained, "He said to meet up at the 'usual place?' He said you'd know what that means."

"Yeah, yeah. The Legion always activates at the worst times."

The woman nodded, "Well, that's the price of citizenship."

"Maybe the United Federation should lower the price of citizenship so I wouldn't have to join."

"Maybe you shouldn't have been born in Mazuri."

Andrews looked at her, "How was I supposed to help that?"

The woman chuckled, "Just get out of here, Andrews."

"Dammit..." Reluctantly, Andrews shuffled over to his van, looking back at the rest of the agents. He slowly crept into the driver seat and pulled his seat belt over himself. He started the engine and backed away from the shack. He carefully drove through the forest and eventually reached a secluded highway. Making sure no one saw him, he sped off to his unit's usual rendezvous.


	11. Card Passer

**Author's Note: Just to avoid any confusion anyone might still have, this story is set in an alternate reality. However, it mostly follows the events after Sonic Adventure 2 and combines the comics, games, and shows. Characters here might have different roles, but none of them are OCs. Seriously, you could look them up, I ain't lying.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 - Card Passer<p>

This was it: his old unit. These guys, these Legionnaires, were the best group of people he had ever met. The Legion was a way to gain citizenship to the United Federation without paying the ridiculously high price for it. These men were from all over the world; Soleanna, Mazuri, Chun-nan, even some Overlanders. Andrews sat in his van, looking at the small pub. The men inside were rough housing and getting along like old times. They wore tan uniforms, their dress shirts covered in medals and were neatly tucked into their tactical pants. Their black Kepis shined in the distance. Andrew smiled to himself and wiped the creases from his own uniform. The feeling he head when changing back into was indescribable. He donned his Kepi as he stepped out of his van.

He took a deep breath of warm air, it felt like the winds of Mazuri, like old times. With an uncontrollable grin, he slowly approached the pub, walking past all the familiar civilian cars. He stood a moment before opening the door, his smile still dominating his face. He looked like an idiot. Hell, he was an idiot, but screw it. These were his guys.

Andrews excitedly swung opened the doors and stood before the diverse group of Legionnaires. Their ruckus ceased and they stared at Andrews, intensely examining him, "Captain!" One man stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs while waving his drink.

"Hey!" Was all Andrews could respond with before he was engulfed by the Legionnaires. He tried to stay professional, but simply could not resist joining in with their shenanigans.

A highly-decorated Legionnaire approached Andrews, "Captain," He nodded at Andrews.

Andrews stood erect and saluted the Legionnaire, "Colonel."

The Colonel smiled and embraced Andrews, "How've you been, brother!?"

Andrews laughed, "Great, Cooper, still a drunken, womanizing mess!"

"Aren't we all?" Colonel Cooper motioned to the Legionnaires at the pub, sounding off another round of cheers.

Andrews laughed and looked at his men, his smile had still not faded in the least, "Just like old times, right Cooper?"

Cooper laughed, "Right, Andrews," The Colonel's smiled slowly dropped as he reached into his shirt's pocket, "I almost forgot, Andrews. You have some fan mail," Colonel Cooper gave him a letter with the seal of the United Federation.

"Hmm?" Andrews took the letter and examined it. Pristine white with a blue G.U.N insignia. He quickly tore it open and skimmed its contents.

_Guardian Units of Nations_

_HQ Company_

_2nd BN 75th Paladin REGT, UF Special Operations Command_

_Fort Thorndyke, Station Square_

_From: Commanding Officer, Headquarters Company, 2nd Battalion, 75th Paladins_

_To: Captain Archibald Andrews, United Federation Foreign Legion, 3rd Rifle Regiment_

_It has come to my concern that [Andrews, Archibald] has shown extreme efficiency and skill to become a candidate for the 75th Paladin Regiment. You will report to Fort Thorndyke outside Station Square to endure an eight week long course to hone your skills as a special forces operator. You will be expected to arrive as soon as possible after you receive this letter. Failure to arrive is considered desertion and you will be handled accordingly._

_Now after all that official stuff, listen up. Tell your commanding officer about the letter, report to Fort Thorndyke. You'll find a Paladin there that goes by 'Dutch.' Listen to him and do as he says and I promise you can have your citizenship. I'm putting trust into you and the Federation needs your help. Do not let me down, Andrews._

_ - Card Passer_

* * *

><p>"What the hell? The Paladins?" Topaz said to herself as she repeatedly read over the letter.<p>

"W-what?" Westwood said as he finally woke up, "What?" He quickly sat up when he noticed Topaz worryingly scanning a piece of paper.

"Westwood... I just got recruited into the Paladins," She smiled for a second, "Do they not know I have one freaking leg!?" She motioned to her stub.

Westwood grabbed the note and read it, saying some of the words out loud to himself, "Card Passer? This is pretty shady, Topaz," He examined the rest of the letter, noticing the seal and insignia, "But... it's authentic."

"Maybe they just don't know I'm an amputee?"

Westwood shook his head, "No, G.U.N would know. They love their paperwork," He read over the letter once more, "I don't think this is on the record, Topaz."

"Yeah, I could gather that much," Topaz replied with a smirk, "But I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do."

Westwood shrugged and sank back to the comforting couch, "You obviously can't go. Stay out of it, it's probably bad news."

Topaz smacked her lips, "Then again, I always wanted to be a Paladin..." She looked at Westwood, balancing her ideas in her brain.

"You have one leg."

"You're just jealous. I'd make a great Paladin," She brought the letter back to her face, quickly scanning it with an enthusiastic grin.

"You have one leg!"

Topaz brought down the note and stared at Westwood, "You can go f-"

A series of loud knocks at her door shut the both of them up. They both stared at each other with puzzled faces as the knocking continued. Westwood silently stood up and carefully approached the door. A boisterous and impatient yell came from the other side of the door, "United Federation Postal Service!" Westwood checked the peephole just to be sure. A husky man in an unkempt, brown work uniform graced Westwood's vision. He had a large package to his side along with a sack of mail.

Westwood turned back to Topaz who motioned for him to open the door. Westwood shrugged and quickly unlocked the door, "Hi," Westwood awkwardly greeted the man halfway into opening the door.

The man stared back with a furrowed brow, "You Miss... Uh, Topaz?"

Before Westwood could answer, Topaz peeped up, "I'm in here!"

The man leaned passed Westwood to get a view of Topaz, "Alright, sure, I need you to sign this. You got a package," He waved a clipboard around.

Topaz cautiously nodded, "Westwood, can you get it for me?"

"Uh, yeah, no problem," He took the clipboard and quickly shuffled through the apartment to Topaz.

"Thanks," She took the pen from the top of the clipboard and scribbled her signature on the piece of paper. She handed it back to Westwood and awaited her package.

Westwood handed back the clipboard and the man kicked the large package into the apartment, "Thank you," He quickly blurted out before closing the door. He picked up the package, but was taken by surprise at the weight of it. He stumbled around the apartment after almost falling forward, "Did you order this?" He tried lifting the package, but simply did not have the strength for it.

She looked at Westwood, chuckling at his struggle, "Uh, no. I haven't ordered anything in months. Maybe someone was nice enough to get me a gift?"

Westwood rolled his eyes, "I don't think anyone likes you that much."

Topaz furrowed a brow, "Please, everyone loves me. I'm adorable."

Westwood pulled the tape off the corner of the package and quickly tore it off. He looked back at her before opening the box and being greeted by a horde of packing peanuts. He shoved his hands in and instantly felt a cool metallic item, "I really, really hope this isn't a bomb," He lifted it out and revealed it to be a pristine, metal prosthetic leg. Westwood held it and simply examined it.

He slowly turned back to Topaz once more, her face was beat red and her cheeks flexed as she bit down. She took her eyes off the leg and stared into Westwood's eyes. She shakily breathed in as her eyes let a few tears loose, "John, I..." She looked back to the leg, "I don't even know... What?"

Westwood put the leg down and searched for anything else. He hovered his hand inside the sea of packing peanuts before eventually hitting a finger of a sharp edge. Westwood quickly pulled out the item: another official government envelope. He tried to show Topaz, but she was too focused on the artificial leg.

He quickly opened the letter,

_John Westwood, if you have not received a letter from me yet, I know you will get it with the leg. Report to Fort Thorndyke with your friend, I need your help. The United Federation needs your help._

_-Card Passer_

_P.S. You're welcome for the leg. You have no idea how many Mobiums we sank into that. Very expensive, Mr. Westwood._

"Of course," He grumbled to himself.

"Westwood!" Topaz yelled out to him. He snapped back to her, "Help me put this on!" She said with a goofy grin over her tear streaked face.

He slid over to her, "Sure, is there an instruction manual or something?"

"I don't know, probably!" She giggled and began gleefully taking apart the leg. Westwood watched in awe as she quickly dismantled the prosthetic leg. He wanted to stop her, but her pure joy made him stay quiet. It was great seeing her like this. She removed a mesh lining from inside, "This thing is held together by magnets, it's some heavy duty tech right here!" She paraded the lining in front of Westwood.

He couldn't help but smile, her happiness was infectious, "Yeah, here, I'll put it on for you."

"Thanks, battle buddy," Topaz said with a wink. Westwood stuck the note in his mouth and took hold of the lining. Westwood flipped the lining inside out and pressed it against her stump. He slowly rolled the mesh lining up her leg, to her thigh. He gently combed over the lining with his thumbs to release any air bubbles. She sat back as she watch him retrieve the metal leg. He slid it up her stump until it hit the magnet on lining. He quickly spun the prosthetic leg around on the magnet until it clicked, keeping it in place. The leg gave out a hiss as it automatically tightened around her stump, "So, what's the letter?" She motioned to the card in his mouth.

"I guess I'm going to Fort Thorndyke too," He said as he let go Topaz's leg, "Freaking special forces..." He stood up and loomed over Topaz.

She looked up towards him, "Then I guess we better get going," She gave him a grin which he returned. Westwood extended his arm and Topaz took it. He lifted her up and her new leg pounded against the floor. Her face turned to one of pure amazement as she looked down at the ground, "Westwood, I'm walking. I'm walking!" She marched around her apartment, her metal leg clanging against the ground, "I never thought I'd ever walk like this again!"

"Be careful, you're going to break something," Westwood joked as he slipped on the few articles of his dress uniform that he had taken off the night before. He once again observed Topaz pacing around the apartment, "Come on, get dressed. We have to be at Fort Thorndyke as soon as possible."

Topaz grabbed her jacket and slid it over her dress shirt and buttoned the few undone buttons. She wrapped her tie around her collar and tightened it, "Westwood, I can't freaking wait!"

* * *

><p>Everything was a blur, if he made a mistake, he'd be dead. He was going dangerously fast, but he didn't care. They ripped him away from those he loved, those that he hadn't seen in forever. Just like old times.<p>

"I can't believe this," Andrews said to himself as he flew down a stretch of country road. His vehicle was being tested to its limit, but he was too angry to slow down. His unit was left behind, only Andrews himself was selected for individual training. Their goodbyes hurt, they were his family, and this was the only time he could see them.

Fort Thorndyke was just a spec in the distance, its size was engulfed by Station Square. Even from this distance, the city took over the horizon, it was truly the pinnacle of human civilization on Mobius. Andrews stopped his van as quickly as he could, jerking himself forward. He silently stared at the fort, then at his Kepi resting on his passenger seat. He could go back, Card Passer definitely wasn't official, he could pretend he never got it. He rested his hand on the elegant top of his Kepi, an urge to don the headgear and speed off back to the pub washed over him.

"I can't," He put both hands on his steering wheel. He felt like a coward, but this Card Passer must have some serious pull, "What kind of a Legionnaire am I?" He put his foot on the gas and continued to speed off to Fort Thorndyke.


	12. Day One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sonic the Hedgehog or Sega**

* * *

><p>Chapter 10 - Day One<p>

Fort Thorndyke, the main garrison at Station Square. It is also home to the training school for the Paladins, G.U.N's elite special forces group. The Fort was bustling today, as they prepared for the new Paladin candidate's grueling stay. The whole Fort was controlled by one room, one man. He sat upon his desk, scanning over the numerous security screens in front of him, making sure everything was going according to plan. He had a thing for that, he was always able to make all the pieces fall in to place. He was always calculating, and he was always right. Not only did this make him deadly as a G.U.N officer, but also an amazing gambler. Perhaps that's why they called him Card Passer.

He liked that name.

Card Passer fanatically looked over his base, checking over every minute detail. From screen to screen, he saw everything. It all seemed up to code, no violations, every soldier was being productive. In reality, the G.U.N units at Fort Thorndyke knew about the system of cameras. They made sure to always look busy. A lone soldier, a Paladin, swiftly marched from camera to camera. His olive drab uniform standing out from the normal soldiers' tactical black. He moved with a purpose, and looked like someone who commanded respect.

The Paladin rubbed his head, running his fingers through his tall stack of brown hair. He checked his surroundings before walking into Card Passer's building. Card Passer sat up slightly upon seeing the Paladin enter his domain. The sound of metallic doors sliding in the distance invaded his ears. The Paladin's footsteps grew louder and louder. Card Passer was expecting him any second, and rested his pale hands on his desk.

"Permission to enter, sir?" The man's voice could shoot through steel, Card Passer heard him through the closed door.

He cleared his throat, "Of course, Dutch," The door slid open and the man slipped into the room. Card Passer glanced over to the Paladin, "You've got to get a haircut."

Dutch rubbed the back of his neck, he wasn't wrong. Dutch's brown hair parted in two, growing past a support for his tactical goggles that ran across the middle of his scalp, "Yes, sir."

"Why have you come here, Colonel?" Card Passer leaned on his folded arms, pressing his mouth on his hands. He fervently watched the security cameras.

"The candidates for Paladin School arrived at the Fort's outer perimeter. They left their civilian vehicles and we shuffled them onto the bus, sir," Dutch took a breath after his report.

Card Passer slowly nodded to himself, "I'm sure you started the procedure, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir. They were blind folded, none of them know who else is going to Paladin School."

"Very good, Colonel. Who is on the list?"

Dutch opened one of his breast pockets and unfolded a small list, "The group is unusually small sir, only four."

"I'm aware, Colonel. Now who has shown up?"

Dutch quickly looked down at his list, "The soldiers are Captain Archibald Andrews of the Foreign Legion, Private First Class Carly Topaz of the Readiness Reserve, Specialist John Westwood of the Station Square National Guard, and Staff Sergeant Asaf Parr of the Army."

"That's everyone I personally contacted, Colonel," Card Passer sat back, "Begin Operation: Last Resort."

Dutch stood erect, "Sir... this is the team?"

"Yes, Colonel."

Dutch looked at the list, then back to Card Passer, "But there's only four of them."

"I know, Colonel."

"Sir... four."

Card Passer stared at Dutch, "Are you questioning me, Colonel?"

Dutch quickly snapped back to reality, "No, sir, but it's just a very small force."

"Covert operations, Colonel. We can't have a big team, how would we keep track of them?" Card Passer watched as the bus full of his "Last Resorts" were pulling up to the base, "We need to stop the Egg Fleet before the public catches wind that there was an invasion on Federation soil."

"Sir, the fleet is closing in on Pumpkin Hill, it won't be long until it hits Central City. Our forces are stalling it, but I'm not sure we'll have enough time to properly train them..."

Card Passer, growing agitated, closed his eyes, "Stop telling me things I already know, Colonel. These four have seen quite a bit in there service, you won't need to teach them much."

"Sir, how can we-"

"Just get it done."

Dutch, defeated, saluted Card Passer, "Yes, sir."

"Now that's what I like to hear!"

* * *

><p>The bus came to a grinding halt, and it was about time. Westwood carefully listened, trying to make up for the loss of his eyesight. He had hear stories about Paladin candidates being blindfolded for the sake of training, but he didn't think it was serious. No one had said a word the entire bus ride, he could understand, the training was already intimidating. Everyone sat silently for a few moments before the doors finally opened.<p>

"Alright, follow the sound of my voice! You're going to come out without taking off your blindfold!" Westwood followed the voice's orders and stood straight up, bashing his head off of the low-hanging luggage rack. A volley of laughter bombarded Westwood as he grunted in pain, "There's always one..." The voice called out to Westwood, causing another wave of laughter.

Westwood stepped into the middle aisle and used his hands to guide himself, touching the leather seats with one hand and extending one arm in front to make sure there were no obstructions. He eventually ran out of seats to grab, so he instantly turned right to exit. He tightly held on to the railing and slowly made his way down the steps of the bus. About halfway down, he was grabbed by the collar, and was violently thrown to the dry ground. He skidded along the dirt before he flopped over.

He heard another three thuds hit the ground around him like a sack of meat along with a short yelp from Topaz. A pair of hands helped him to his knees and he simply knelt there, waiting. He let out a scream as his entire body tensed up as freezing water was poured on him. A hit to the stomach had him fall to the ground only to be instantly set back up on his knees. Another rush of pure pain came as more ice water was poured over him. This time, a blow from the back of the head sent him face first to the ground. Throughout all of this punishment, he could here the same happening to the other three. The others screamed out as water was poured on them as well. A hand grabbed the back of his blindfold and quickly pulled him back up.

Time itself seemed to stop before he heard another human, "Run!" A voiced simply screamed at the disoriented Westwood. He simply continued to kneel there, his senses were shot, Westwood had no idea as to what was going on, "I said run!"

"Y-yes, Drill Sergeant!" Westwood scrambled to his feet.

"Drill Sergeant!? This isn't some summer camp like you have in the Army, this is damned Paladin School! You will call me sir!" The man pushed Westwood to the ground. Westwood stayed on the ground, staring up at the man, "Get up! Run!"

"Yes, sir!" Westwood again got up, only to be pushed back down.

"Get up!"

"Yes sir!" Again, Westwood was pushed back down.

"Get-"

"Spike! Take it easy, killer!" Another voice approached Westwood, "We need them alive."

"I'm just having fun, Honch," The two voices shared a chuckle, "Get up! Run!" He spun Westwood to a certain direction that he couldn't make out, "Make sure you run straight!"

"Yes, sir!" Westwood struggled to keep up his run.

The two Paladins stayed behind as Westwood caught up to the rest of the candidates. Honch, a man with short blonde hair looked at the small group, "These are the guys. They're Operation: Last Resort."

The other voice, Spike, a man with grayish skin and teal blue spiked hair, shockingly turned to Honch, "There's four of them!"

"I know," Honch continued to watch them run towards the building, "I don't know what Card Passer is thinking, but it's probably really stupid."

* * *

><p>"On the contrary, Honch, I believe my plan will work accordingly," Card Passer spoke to himself while watching him on the monitors.<p>

"Wait, you have audio too?" Dutch surprisingly looked at the monitors.

Card Passer nodded, "Of course, I hear everything."

"That's... unsettling, sir."

"It also makes sure I have complete control over my garrison, Colonel," He responded.

"Do you really think these four can really pull this off, sir?" Dutch watched them on the monitors as well.

"They have to, Colonel. For the sake of the United Federation, they have to."


	13. Frostbite

**Disclaimer: I recently reviewed all the other chapters to this story and took the time to properly read through them and fix some spelling/grammar/plot holes. Added some additional dialogue and other things, if you haven't read this story since last update I highly recommend rereading to catch yourself back up with the story. If you're new then you saved yourself from some pure shit.**

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><p>Chapter 11 - Frostbite<p>

It had been two hours. Two full hours, one hundred and twenty minutes. His legs couldn't take it anymore. The National Guard had made him soft, just standing there was too much for him. He envied Topaz... half the legs, half the pain. It felt as if his calves were constantly being stabbed and his joints were being pulled apart. It would seem like such a menial task to the naive observer, just standing completely motionless, like a living statue. In truth, Westwood's body was engaged in the fight of a lifetime, a silent war of simply standing upright.

It was extremely hot, but not the merciful dry heat like one would find in the Dusty Desert outside of Soleanna, it was humid. Who even names a desert, the 'Dusty Desert' anyway? Topaz smiled to herself, it was like the princess let some six year old go wild with their ice water that had been dumped on her was replaced by pure sweat. She could feel her sweat soak into her uniform, and that was the worst feeling of all time. It was like wearing a trash bag in a sauna.

None of the Paladins-in-training knew where they were, but they heard chattering along with objects being moved around. Westwood couldn't tell if the Paladins in charge of their training were indoors or not.

"Alright candidates," He heard a door creak open and finally shut, "At this time you will remove your blindfolds."

The group frantically swiped at the knots behind their heads, "Oh my... no, not like that..." He briskly strolled passed the four recruits, untying their knots with ease, "I swear you people can accomplish literally nothing."

Westwood was nearly blinded by the intense sunlight that was shotgunned into his pupils, "I am Lieutenant Colonel Spike, the senior training cadre here at Paladin School," He paced back and forth before them, "You will be spending the next eight weeks here... with me," Sure, eight weeks sounded short enough, but Westwood knew he was in for two months of pure hell.

Topaz scanned the man, Spike, and cracked a slight grin. His getup looked ridiculous, his blue spiked hair made him look like Sonic's number one fan. Spike quickly wiped himself in front of her, the both of them face to face, "Something funny?"

Topaz wiped the grin off her face, "No, Drill Serg... Sir!"

He looked at the rank on her chest, "Are you serious? Private First Class?" He crossed his arms, "You're like thirty! What? You just drop out of college?"

Topaz continued to look dead ahead, she's done this type of thing plenty of times, "No, sir!"

"Oh, then you got lost picking up your kids from soccer practice?" Spike closed the distance from her face. If she didn't know any better, he was about to kiss her, "I read about you... You're in the Readiness Reserve, right? Freakin' girl scout is what you are, stumpy," He finally backed up from Topaz's face, "I read about you all! Andrews, you're not even legal are, you?" Spike shifted his attention to the Mazuri native, "Foreign Legion, huh? I actually won't mess with you too bad... You probably want to eat me or some screwed up stuff like that, right?"

Captain Andrews continued to stand at attention, not saying a word, "I swear, there's something wrong with you Legion types..." He continued down the line of wannabe Paladins, "Westwood, huh? You're the guy from the Guard... What? Sick of weekend warrior games and decided to try the real Army? Freakin' National Garbage..."

"And finally, we got you... Parr?" He stared at his name tape, "Is there like something missing? Or is that actually your full name?"

"Full name, sir!" Parr responded boisterously. Westwood's heart sank when he heard Parr's voice. It was him. Oh no, it was him!

"Read that you did some pretty shady crap in Holoska, huh?"

"I was just doing my job, sir!"

* * *

><p>"I don't know about this..."<p>

"What's wrong?"

"Is this ethical? Actually if I have to ask that, I don't think it is."

"We're just doing our job, man."

Westwood and Parr backtracked through Lieutenant Lodge's command center. The combat engineers were still hard at work. At least Westwood was pretty sure they were, the engineers never really fixed anything, "I feel like our job is becoming genocidal."

"It's a village full of sun humpers, man!" Contrary to popular belief, not everyone supported the United Federation's occupation of Holoska. Mobius had a lot of Soleanna sympathizers, or sun humpers, as the soldiers of G.U.N liked to call them. Parr knew what they were doing was right, he knew the Federation couldn't be safe with insurgents running around.

Westwood sighed, "I guess, but..."

"No buts, man," Parr grabbed his friend's shoulder, "We need to do this, Lieutenant's orders."

Westwood shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah, alright."

"That's my rough, tough infantry guy!"

"That's me."

The pair was assaulted by the frigid air as they finally left the comfort of the command center. It was almost like Westwood forgot about how cold it was outside. The warmth of the command center was nice, maybe he should become an officer.

"Hey, we should check out our crew service, huh?" Parr said while being pelted with snow. The crew service, in this case, was a bulky light machine gun with an almost limitless amount of ammunition, "Do you want it?" Parr asked Westwood who only stared at him behind his frozen goggles, "Alright, alright, I'll carry it..."

The corporal and the other soldiers were still huddled around their fire, some were snacking on field rations. They each enjoyed the heat the fire provided as well as the mingling point it naturally created for gossip and camaraderie, "Hey, Westwood, heard you two were heading out," The corporal addressed them as they passed by.

Parr and Westwood stopped dead in their tracks, "Yes, corporal."

"Alright, well be careful. Not that I care about you, but I'd rather not drag your body all the way back here for your stuff," He turned back to the fire, "Someone get some more wood, will ya?"

They made their way to the armory, probably the biggest building in their tiny camp. It housed enough arms and munitions to level a small country, like Holoska, even though only a small handful of soldiers operated the base.

Westwood began fumbling for his keycard, but Parr beat him to it and quickly ran his along the card reader, "Oh, sorry, but too slow."

He just looked at Parr for a moment before shoving his keycard back into his pockets,"Yeah, I guess you're just too fast."

"Paint me blue and call me Sonic."

"Never say that again, Parr," Westwood shook his head as the two entered the armory. It was dimly lit, with lockers and cages full of weapons, ammunition, and supplies everywhere. To the left was the office of the supply sergeant, that's where they needed to go. The door was wide open, ready for anyone to barge in and demand something.

They shuffled through the door and stood before the supply sergeant who was lazily leaned back on his chair with his combat boots comfortably relaxed on his desk. His helmet, goggles, and face mask where tossed aside and his bare head was pressed up against his office's heater, "What can I do for you two?" He lifted his head and dropped his feet from his desk.

"Sergeant, we need to check out a crew-served... just one light machine gun," Westwood simply stated.

The supply sergeant chuckled, "Yeah, just one, huh? Let's get that for you," He jumped up from his chair and snatched a set of keys off his key rack. He slipped passed Parr and Westwood out into the main armory. They followed him to a large cage full of machine guns and rifles. He unlocked it and quickly fetched their light machine gun, "Help yourself to the ammo in the back of the cage. I'd recommend getting as much as you can carry," He raised the weapon in front of them, "This baby goes through bullets like I go through divorces."

Westwood and Parr shot each other a quick glance before returning their gaze to the supply sergeant. He shoved the weapon to Parr's chest and continued back to his office, "Alright let's get this show on the road!" Parr said as he examined his new toy.

"Oh, and if you break it, you buy it! You officially signed for it!" The supply sergeant poked his head out of his office.

Westwood took his assault pack off and began cramming ammunition into it. Parr carried the heavy weapon, the least he could do was take the weight of the ammo for him, "Do you think someone else should come with us?" He asked Parr while he continued to put belts of ammunition into his pack.

"No, this is low key, remember. Real badass special forces, covert ops type stuff," Parr replied, his eyes still glued to his weapon.

"Oh please," He shook his head, "This isn't badass at all."

"Feels like it," Parr aimed the machine gun, checking the sights. He looked to Westwood, "Come on, we got big guns now, those sun humpers have like muskets or whatever."

Westwood slipped his assault pack back on and grabbed his carbine, "Let's hope, I guess."

The two soldiers went back out into the frozen tundra and began their long journey to the small village to the west.


	14. Loyalty

**Disclaimer: I actually don't own anything.**

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><p>Chapter 12 - Loyalty<p>

The pain was unbearable, he didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep this up. Westwood completely lost track of time, the hours simply slipped away like seconds. It was evening now, they've been standing all day. The four of them stood completely motionless, aside from the odd knee spasm or the ever so slight shift of the feet. They heard Spike and the other training cadre moving and chatting inside the plain white building in front of their faces. At least he could see now. Got to look at the positives, right?

After all, he was going to be one badass Paladin.

Andrews played this game before. Hell, this was easy compared to Foreign Legion training. The United Federation treated them like criminals and pure scum. Paladins had it easy, he's stood for days at a time. The Federal Justice Bureau wasn't too kind either. He had to survive weeks of literal torture before he joined their ranks. Everything from waterboarding to shocking, even that weird Chun-nan water torture. It did have its perks though, he had files on everyone.

Like Westwood... Good enough guy, relatively clean military record, up until a recent deployment to Holoska. The details weren't there for some reason, and Andrews didn't like that. Parr was on the same deployment and recieved multiple medals and promotions for valor. They were also supposedly close friends. G.U.N had some shady operations and cover-ups. He probably did something his commanding officer didn't like, and they must've had a lot of pull. He was switched to the National Guard directly after his deployment.

Topaz on the other hand baffled him. Lost her leg on the initial invasion of Soleanna, then refused to be evacuated to a support hospital. She had to restrained and forcibly airlifted. She had a hell of a fight for someone with a tourniquet attached to a stump. She was medically discharged from Active Duty, but sent to the Readiness Reserve, just in case G.U.N ever needed her services. Like right now, but why Paladin school? Why something that required so much use of, well, the legs?

The door swung open again and four incredibly loud thuds quickly followed. No one looked over to see what was thrown, "Alright, soldiers, listen up," Spike cleared his throat and approached the four recruits. He was now clad from head to toe in combat gear. Everyone wondered how his large blue spikes fit under his helmet. Attached to his back was a large rucksack, it looked two times bigger than himself, "We're going on a little ruck march, show you just what being a Paladin is like..."

Another Paladin with an equally heavy assortment of gear approached the group, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, maggots! I'm Master Sergeant Honch, and I honestly have no idea what any of you are doing here," He shifted his body to make his enormous rucksack more comfortable, "Three of you aren't even Active Duty military, and none of you are Airborne qualified..."

"Screw it, we'll do it live! Right, Honch?" Spike chuckled, "Oh, yeah, we have a mandatory jump you have to complete here at Paladin school... Hope you're all quick learners," Spike looked off to a distance forest. Fort Thorndyke covered a massive amount of territory, including multiple forests. One could live there all their lives and not see the entire base, "Now how about you soldiers ruck up!" Spike motioned to the four rucksacks they threw out of the door earlier.

They quickly rushed over to the rucksacks and picked them up. It was heavier than Westwood could've possibly imagined. He managed to lift it chest height before falling backwards directly to the ground. He let out a grunt as the heavy rucksack landed directly on him. Honch and Spike burst out laughing at his failure. His face began to instantly heat up as he felt the embarrassment cut through him like a knife, "That's the Guard guy I was telling you about," Spike managed to say to Honch in between fits of laughter.

He glanced to his compatriots, Andrews simply shook his head while Parr completely ignored him. Topaz tried to hide her laughter, but simply couldn't resist. She motioned to Andrews and they lifted the ruck off his sternum and quickly stood him up, "Come on, tough guy," Topaz whispered in his ear.

"Good one, man," Was all Andrews could come up with.

Parr had his ruck on and adjusted while Topaz and Andrews helped Westwood get situated, "Whoa, look at Mr. High Speed over here," Honch examined over Parr.

"Yeah, this is our one Active Duty guy," Spike replied.

"Makes sense."

"John, you good?" Topaz asked as she adjusted her rucksack.

Westwood finished with his ruck, "Yeah, hey, thanks guys."

Andrews grabbed his shoulder, "Hey, no problem brother," Topaz gave him a simple nod and smile.

The three eventually fell in to formation with Honch, Spike, and Parr, "Alright, soldiers, let's roll!"

With those inspirational words, they took their first step into their ruck march. Westwood could already feel the pain in his back.

* * *

><p>Each step felt like its own war as he fought against the knee high snow. His black combat uniform now had a gloss of white as Westwood and himself struggled against the snow. They knew where the village was, a trail of smoke in the distance was as good as a big red 'x.' His light machine gun was almost frozen solid, he was afraid it might not even fire in these conditions. Then again, he had to give it to the United Federation, they made some pretty reliable weapons.<p>

"This freakin' blows," He heard Westwood complain behind him. Again.

"Hey, we're getting paid for this, right?" Parr replied optimistically. Sure, Westwood was his friend, but he absolutely loved to complain. Parr couldn't even imagine what that guy would do at the invasion of Soleanna, he probably would've died. That place was pure hell.

"I think I got snow in my boots," Great, more whining.

Parr continued to lead the way, staring at the frozen tundra before him. Maybe Westwood had a good reason to complain, "So, Westwood, I meant to ask you... You got a girl back home?"

Westwood looked up to Parr for a second, "Uh, no, not at the moment. We split up before I went to basic training," He humored Parr's small talk.

"Huh, you're just boring in every aspect, then?"

Westwood stopped dead in his tracks, "Excuse me?"

Parr looked over his shoulder, "No girl, haven't talked to your family, no friends... Sheesh, you're kind of a loser, man."

"Whoa, really? Chill out," Westwood started moving again, realizing how little of a social life he really had. The United Federation and G.U.N were basically everything to him. Maybe if he wasn't as patriotic, or idealistic, he would have a girlfriend... or even a friend.

"We're in Holoska. I can't get any chiller."

The two eventually found themselves climbing a mountain of pure snow. They felt their legs almost give out as the knee-deep snow froze every nerve below their waists. The village was just on the other side, it was almost time to weed out the local terrorists. Parr opened the feed tray to his light machine gun and threw his ammunition belt inside. The bullets fell down the side of the gun like a shiny waterfall, almost reaching the ground. Parr was now able to take out Soleanna itself with his weapon and inflated ego.

Parr had no idea what they were going to find on the other side of the hill. Were they just marching toward death itself? Was there a Soleannan firing squad awaiting them? Hell, who even knows? "Westwood, you ready for this?" He turned to his companion, just short of crossing over the hill top.

"Yeah, I got you covered," Westwood responded, pulling his carbine close to his body.

"You only live once, right?" Parr and Westwood charged over the hilltop and quickly dove to the ground. The snow invaded their bodies and seemed to freeze them in place. They aimed down from their position to the village below. They vigilantly scanned the area, just a couple of igloos surrounding a large bonfire. Several men and women, clad in massive parkas took notice to the two soldiers, whose black uniforms harshly clashed with the snowy backdrop. The fur from their hoods engulfed most of their tan faces as they observed Westwood and Parr.

"Hey, psst, I have a gut feeling they aren't here..." Westwood whispered to Parr.

Parr looked over everyone, Holoskans had a very distinct look; tan skin and jet black hair. He wasn't being racist or anything, just a simple fact of life on Mobius, "No, they're here. Lieutenant said so," He got up slowly and shook the snow off his weapon and uniform, "Let's head down there, man."

Westwood followed Parr as they clumsily made their way down the snowy hill. The scent of burning wood hit them the closer they got to the village's bonfire. The Holoskans simply watched them, with some pity, as they fought against the snow to reach the village. From within a large igloo behind the bonfire, two elderly villagers stepped out to greet Westwood and Parr.

"Alright, play it cool. I think those are the village elders," Westwood lowered his carbine as they approached the group of igloos.

Parr chuckled, "Play it cool? You're talking to the master of cool," The two short, plump village elders were whispering to each other as they got closer.

"Then how about you lower your weapon, Master of Cool?"

The elders nodded to each other and stood erect, waiting for the soldiers, "I don't like this, man," Parr scanned the surrounding igloos, "Screams ambush."

"Are you kidding me, Parr? Look at these guys," He motioned to the elders as they finally came upon them.

The elders smiled at each other and then smiled to Parr and Westwood, "Hello, I am Jari-Pekka, and this... this is my wife Ursule," He and his wife bowed to the armed men, "I am the elder, and leader, of this village," Jari-Pekka motioned to his village with child-like glee.

"Hello, sir. Specialist Westwood, Guardian Units of Nations," He outstretched his hand and Jari-Pekka happily grasped it and energetically shook.

"Yes, soldiers, how may we help you?" Jari-Pekka's smile only grew, "Learning a bit of Holoskan history? Maybe try our famous smoked mohn, or sparkle gelatin? I'm sure my wife's shop has everything your heart desires!"

Ursule nodded in response to her husband, "Our fishermen have just come back with a fresh shipment of mohn," She licked her lips just from the thought. Parr observed a couple of villagers surrounding a particular igloo. They quickly moved a couple boxes inside a glanced back to Parr himself. As they closed the door to the igloo he caught a look at a man with long blonde hair and a bushy, unkempt beard.

"Actually, sir, we've had reports of Soleannan soldiers in the area. We were wondering if you had any information?" Westwood smiled at Ursule and Jari-Pekka, not that they could see it behind his face mask. It seemed like their joyfulness was infectious. The village, even though it was cold, just seemed extremely nice. Too nice.

Jari-Pekka's smile quickly faded, "Um, no, I'm sorry. You two are the first soldiers we've seen in a long time..."

Parr continued to carefully look over the village, hoping to find something, anything. A clothes line was hung up between two igloos, filled with parkas and anoraks, "Alright, sir, not that I don't take your word for it, but we have to take a quick look around," Westwood continued with the village elder.

"Sure, I don't see any problem with that. Just try not to disturb any of my people," Jari-Pekka warned the two.

Then he saw it.

Near the clothes line... A pair of worn out Royal Guard boots. He took a second to dissuade himself, but the elegant markings and sun emblem were impossibly Soleannan. If the village was harboring terrorists, then they were all terrorists, "Dammit! Weapons hot, take them out!" Parr yelled and immediately fired his machine gun on Ursule, cutting her in half.

Jari-Pekka stared at Ursule's twitching body in pure horror, "Ursu-" Parr's fire shifted to the elder and quickly shut him up. He fell to the cold embrace of the snow, riddled with holes.

Westwood jumped back from the sudden murders, "Parr! What the hell!"

"Royal Guard boots! In the clothes line!" Parr gave quick point in the direction before firing into the igloos themselves.

Westwood stared at the boots, trying to recollect his thoughts. The screams of terror from inside the igloos made it extremely hard to think, "For Princess Elise! Glory to Solaris!" He heard the familiar battle cry in the distance.

Westwood quickly readied his carbine and fired on the villagers, not knowing who the enemy was. The brown coats made easy targets as he tore into them. Each time he pulled the trigger, he felt more and more like a monster. How could he even be doing this? Five of the villagers ran towards the sounds of gunfire, they each had long, unkempt hair and beards. Their battle rifles were the exact same Westwood faced on the beaches of Soleanna. He and Parr quickly jumped behind igloos before they could be fired upon.

"Westwood, you see anything?" Parr yelled from behind an igloo, then he quickly fired a burst towards the enemy.

"Yeah, about five! Maybe more!" He replied to his comrade. He popped out from behind his cover and sent a pair of rounds into an approaching soldier. With a grunt, he dropped his battle rifle and threw himself over a bench near the bonfire. His carbine sent heat and gas from the spent round directly into his nose and eyes. The smell was disgusting and made his eyes water. Westwood went back to his cover just as a bullet whizzed past his face.

Parr continued blindly firing from behind cover, none of his shots coming close to the Soleannan soldiers who dug themselves in. Westwood peaked out and fired to wherever he thought the enemy was. His reward was a hand grenade chucked to his position, it rolled to his feet. In an act of desperation, Westwood kicked the grenade as hard as he could, actually managing to send it airborne. It finally exploded directly into the chest of a Soleannan who decided to rush his position. The man's organs were shredded and flew through the air like confetti as his mangled body dropped almost immediately.

Parr witnessed the entire act, "Holy sh-" A bullet tore through the igloo he was standing behind and hit his knee, shattering the black knee pad. He let out a scream and dropped from the pain. Westwood sighed and watched his companion writhe in pain from across the village path that separated them. He saw blood gushing out of his leg, hopefully the bullet didn't hit an artery. That was all he could think of as he saw Parr bleed out.

He dropped his light machine gun and reached into the first-aid pouch on his tactical vest. He dug through countless dressings and bandages, but was lacking in what he really needed... a damn tourniquet. He needed to stop that bleeding as soon as possible. He made due with what he had and ripped the packaging off one of his combat dressings. He was kicking himself for not paying any attention in the first-aid classes, and simply put pressure against his wound. Much to his relief it didn't go deep at all, just a graze.

He pushed down as hard as he could and watched Westwood take shots at the remaining enemies. Parr took out his pistol from its holster and fired a few rounds as well. Parr watched as a man in a brown parka climbed over a wall behind Westwood's igloo. The man aimed his battle rifle at his partner, so Parr fired wildly towards the man until his clip was empty. A couple shots made their mark as they embedded themselves in his chest and stomach, spraying his blood on the wall behind him and making him stumble to Westwood. He grabbed onto Westwood's arm as he fell to the ground, gasping for air. Westwood threw the bearded man from out behind his igloo just as his pained breathing stopped.

Westwood heard the sound of metallic items being dropped, so he quickly peered out of his cover. He saw two of the Soleannans holding their arms straight up, with their battle rifles laying at their feet, "We surrender! Enough killing!" One of the men said, his long blonde hair and beard danced with the blowing wind.

He kept his sights on the two, "Turn around!" He yelled to the two bearded men. They obeyed and slowly spun around. He couldn't see anything on them, then again they were wearing massive brown parkas, "Walk towards my voice! Slowly!" The two began approaching Westwood with their arms raised.

One of the men threw his arms quickly into his jacket, "Glory to Sola-" Westwood sent a bullet into his throat, causing him to wildly shoot the handgun he reached for. He chocked on himself and spent the last of his rounds before dying.

He then aimed at the second man, the blonde haired one, "Please, no! Don't shoot!" He crouched down, covering his head.

"Westwood, don't kill him! Let's at least get one alive!" Parr limped over to his position.

As soon as Parr said those words he looked around, the village was now a slaughterhouse. The snow was stained red and not a single igloo was sparred damage. Corpses, body parts, and bullets littered what was once a Holoskan village. This wasn't right... they were G.U.N, not murderers. He wasn't protecting the Federation, he was killing innocents just because they were from another country. They just walked into this place and absolutely leveled it, women, children... no one was spared.

How could someone do this?

How could _he _do this?

"Parr, what just happened?" Westwood turned to his friend, dropping his rifle into the bloody snow.

"We just took out a bunch of bad guys, man," Parr responded.

Westwood glanced over to the bearded man, who was now openly sobbing, surrounded by dead villagers, "I don't think they were the bad guys..."


	15. Misery, Misery

**Disclaimer: You know, I'm beginning to think disclaimers don't even matter.**

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><p>Chapter 13 - Misery, Misery<p>

Parr kept his pistol aimed at the man's center mass. If this guy moved at all, he'd be dead. It was freezing outside, colder than death itself, so he moved the Soleannan soldier inside one of the igloos with him. Cold air crept through the bullet holes Parr had created earlier, ensuring that the igloo wouldn't be any better than standing outside. Most of the furniture inside was also destroyed from the massacre. Nothing was spared, not even the fireplace. The cold air he drew in stung his nose and throat, and all feeling in his body disappeared long ago. Westwood was still outside sulking, or whatever. He refused to pick back up his carbine so it looked like Parr was on his own. Usual freaking Westwood.

The man simply leaned against one of the intact walls, directly across from Parr. His face was covered in frozen tear streaks, he knew he looked like a coward... In truth, he had the right to mourn. These G.U.N soldiers killed his brothers in arms. They were everything he had left since they escaped the invasion of his homeland. Deep down he knew he couldn't hide from the United Federation's scouring eyes. He just wanted to keep them alive for as long as he could, enjoy every second left of their company. He didn't know why he cried, he prepared himself for this moment for months, but seeing his men die like that simply destroyed him.

"So what? I talk first? You?" The man finally spoke up, his blue eyes shifting over Parr. He tried to pick up the pieces of his shattered psyche, retain whatever wit he had left.

Parr simply kept his pistol aimed at him, "I... have no idea. I've never done this before. Maybe I should just hand you over to the Bureau?"

The man stroked his messy beard nervously, "You seriously asking me? Are you that much of a screw up, or just incredibly new to this?"

"What? No!" Parr bellowed in anger, "I'm just talking to myself! Okay?"

He furrowed a brow, "So you're crazy too?"

Parr rolled his eyes behind his tinted goggles, "Probably."

"Well, judging by the way you treated my people, you obviously are," He muttered, crossing his arms, "Federalist scum."

Parr shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah, well you guys kinda deserved it, you know?"

"How dare you..."

"Hey, man, you brought it up."

He gritted his teeth, "You're a murderer."

Parr chuckled, "Yeah, and you're a hostage."

"So that's what G.U.N has come to, huh?"

"Yeah, sure," Parr shook his head, "Who the hell are you anyway, dude?"

The man stood erect, "Captain Pietro, Soleanna Royal Guard."

Parr cracked a slight smile, "Yeah? Are you proud of that or something?"

"Last group of real soldiers on all of Mobius..."

Parr looked out of the igloo's open door to the sea of dead bodies, "I don't know man, they seem pretty dead to me," He said while pointing at the deceased soldiers.

Pietro spit at Parr's feet, then noticed his wrapped knee, "Least I know in the end my men were pretty good shots," He nodded to Parr's wound.

Parr looked down to his knee, "Just a flesh wound, man... but tell your guys I said thanks for the medals I'll get from this."

Pietro forced a smile upon his face to show his fake resolve, "Ha, yeah, I bet that's the only reaso-"

"Yeah, shut the hell up for a second," Parr quickly cut him off and reached for his short-range radio. He pressed down on the radio and brought it to his masked lips, keeping his gaze and pistol on Pietro, "Lieutenant Lodge, this is Parr, we got one of the sun humpers-er-Soleannans in custody," He let his finger off the transmission button and awaited a response.

Only static escaped the radio as he continued his aim at Pietro.

Pietro cocked his head at Parr, "Huh, something wrong?"

"Um..." Parr checked the radio, inspecting it closely, "Ah, no signal. That makes sense, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, that puts a wrench in things, doesn't it?"

Parr attached his radio back on his vest and refocused his aim on Pietro's chest, "Yeah, for you."

He sent a quick burst of three rounds into Pietro's torso. He let out a grunt and clenched his wounds, gasping erratically for oxygen. He leaned on a nearby dining table before it quickly collapsed for his weight causing him to slip to the icy floor. He lay gasping, staring out of the open ventilation hole in the igloo's roof. He saw the sun and his breathing began to slow as he awaited its embrace.

"Glory... to... Solaris..." He struggled to let out in between heaves.

Parr quickly holstered his pistol and pulled up the bottom of his face mask, revealing his mouth and nose. The bare exposure quickly stung his olive skin. He leaned against the doorway of the igloo and quickly emptied his stomach contents onto the pristine snow. His fit raged on as his gagging felt like a punch to the abdomen. He held it in this long, the death, the killing, it all got to him. He wasn't some psychopath, he was just fulfilling his duty to his nation. He kept his composure in front of his enemy, but he simply couldn't take it anymore. Another round of heaving dropped him to his knees before more bile spewed from his lips.

He clenched his stomach and fell to the fetal position. Tears welled up in his eyes, his vision quickly blurring. Something wasn't right, he never felt like this before, "Help... help me, please," He weakly whispered. He felt himself getting lighter as his senses began to fail him. A darkness began invading the corners of his vision as he tried crawling out of the igloo. It wasn't long before he was completely consumed by the darkness and fell limp in the snow.

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><p>He never forgot that feeling. That day in Holoska was the turning point of his life, he wasn't weak anymore. He was a soldier, someone who places the mission above all else and gets it done. The United Federation needed men like him, and he knew that. Why else would they select him for Paladin training? Then again, why would they pick Westwood, of all people? That man was a ghost, he didn't even want to think about him or acknowledge his existence. Maybe it was a joke, maybe a camera crew would jump out of the trees and surprise them all. Or maybe G.U.N was as stupid as he was beginning to think.<p>

Lieutenant Lodge kept him smart, though. At least smarter than the rest of his so-called comrades. Under her command, she was able to do things for his career he didn't even think was possible. Like the training he was undergoing now. Sure, he was hurting, but graduating Paladin school would be his biggest achievement yet. He would proudly wear the Paladin tab on his uniform and be the envy of his friends and underlings. It was the thought of this that truly kept him going.

Parr kept his focus on the path ahead of him, falling in behind Honch and Spike. They were completely surrounded by forest, and what was left of the moon illuminated only a few feet in front of his vision. It didn't feel like they were on Fort Thorndyke anymore. With each step he took, he heard a metallic clang behind him. Topaz's metal leg had been making the most annoying noises the entire time. Whirring and hissing at random moments, it seemed like she was the loudest woman on all of Mobius.

"So, sir, you taking your family to see the Black Comet?" Honch spoke up. He and Spike had been chatting the entire march, they barely even struggled under all the weight.

Spike nodded, "Yeah, I'd like to. I don't know if I can get to Westopolis in time, though," He replied, "Especially since we have to train these rejects now," Spike motioned to the four trainees.

Topaz rolled her eyes, the night concealing her disrespect. She heard about the Black Comet Festival over in Westopolis, it was supposed to crazy. Nothing but drugs, sex, and music for like an entire week. The last one they had was fifty years ago, and they're still cleaning up the mess. The National Guard and law enforcement had to be called in and everything. She thought about inviting Westwood to go with her, but figured he wasn't in to that stuff. Hell, she didn't think he was in to anything, really.

"Yeah, I was thinking about going to the festival, actually," Honch shifted his gear while walking and talking.

Spike chuckled, "Only if you want to lose your job, Master Sergeant."

Honch gulped and took a quick look around, "Do you think he's got cameras out here?"

Spike laughed even louder, "Hell yes, Master Sergeant! Probably watching us right now."

* * *

><p>Card Passer was indeed watching them, as he always does. He was in his office, his desk fan blowing cool air across his face. It was incredibly late, and he was stalking them more out of boredom than anything. Most of the base's soldiers were sleeping, with guards being the only ones up. They were all going about their business, like ants in a farm. The Paladin recruits were the only ones doing something interesting so naturally he viewed them the most. He ignored the comments Spike and Honch made, he let Topaz's attitude slip as well.<p>

"Permission to enter, sir?" The noise from behind his door made him jump with fear, almost knocking him out of his chair. Card Passer to a moment to regain his composure and cleared his throat. He looked at his monitor screen and saw colonel Dutch waiting outside his door, "Sir?"

"Yes, Colonel, come in," Card Passer acknowledged him.

Dutch quickly moved into the room and stood erect, "Sir, the delivery truck stopped at the armory. They unloaded all the specialty gear you requested."

Card Passer's eyes widened. The delivery truck came through? How did he miss it? The damn Paladins captured all his attention, he must not have seen it! "Colonel, did anyone touch the equipment?" He loosened his collar, it seemed like it was chocking him.

"Well, yes, sir. Some guys brought it into the armory, but supply won't sort it 'till tomorrow," Dutch rubbed the back of his head nervously.

Card Passer blew out a sigh of relief, "Don't let anyone near those crates. The gear in there is experimental, all part of Operation: Last Resort."

"Yes, sir," Dutch took a quick glance at the screens. They still creeped the hell out of him, but they were a good source of information, "How are the trainees doing, sir?"

Card Passer squinted at Dutch, "Is that any of your concern, Colonel?"

"Um... no, sir. Just trying to have some, uh, conversation..."

Card Passer looked back to the screen, viewing the Paladins, "They're doing alright, no one has quit. Yet."

Dutch cracked a slight smile, "Better than last cycle already!" He joked, but Card Passer kept a straight face, "Right, uh, I'll take my leave now, sir."

"Good idea, Colonel," With that, Dutch headed out of the room, rubbing his colonel rank on his collar. He held an extremely high rank, yet that man made him feel like a freaking private.

At least he had to get up earlier to tell supply about those stupid boxes. Card Passer had no end of suspicious things going on, then again he was a weird guy in general. He remembered his old instructors in Paladin school sharing horror stories of Card Passer's rule. It was surprising to him that G.U.N didn't step in and do anything, but then again Fort Thorndyke was the most efficient base in the United Federation. In the end that's all that really matters to the brass. Efficiency.


End file.
